


Taking A Dive

by Allerleirauh



Series: The Taking Series [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Interspecies, Invasion, M/M, Multispecies, Original Character(s), Political Alliances, Sehlat, Slash, Space Battles, Space Opera, Violence, Vulcan, Xenophilia, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1457047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allerleirauh/pseuds/Allerleirauh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At long last Kira, Garak and Bashir are ready to take on the Dominion. Faced with the combined power of the Federation and the Dominion, their only hope lies in stealth rather than a frontal attack. Using a stolen Dominion fighter, the <i>Scarab</i>, they prepare to head for the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant. Their goal: to destroy the Founders. </p><p>It's a risky plan, but they know they won't be without help as a small group of Starfleet vessels affiliated with Vulcan is prepared to stand by them.</p><p>At first everything seems to go according to plan, but then a treachery at the very heart of their coalition causes events to spiral out of control. Disaster strikes, and it strikes hard and deadly. Soon they don't fight for their freedom but just for survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the lovely lanalucy.

The Present

 

Vulcan, ShiKahr

Standing in front of the large window, Bashir looked out over the city and beyond, observing the vast desert landscape that stretched to the horizon. He had spent most of the day like that and now his eyes hurt from the continuous strain and from the high intensity of the Vulcan sun. Still he continued his vigil. He couldn’t look away. He simply couldn’t. It was a futile endeavor, but he couldn’t help the feeling of hope against hope as he scanned the silvery red band where shadowy dunes met the darkening sky. Barely touching the horizon, Vulcan’s setting sun tinted the land in a shade of angry, dark red, bathing everything in its dying rays, creating a dull and uniform look of bitter desolation.

His friends were dead. The knowledge was like a festering wound. The Vulcans had showed him pictures of the _Scarab’s_ crash site. There couldn’t be any real doubt about it, but on a purely emotional level his mind still refused accepting the stark reality of it. _They can’t be dead_ , his mind whispered to him, _not after everything they risked and sacrificed, all they still dreamt of accomplishing_. He listened to the whispers while he scanned the horizon day after day, watching out for movements that would herald their miraculous return. He still listened when he woke up each morning and, still halfway between waking and dreaming, he couldn’t understand why he was alone in his bed – not until he remembered their deaths once he was fully awake.

During the last few days his mind’s stubborn denial had caused him to whirl around more than once, because he thought he had seen one of them out of the corner of his eye, entering a room or just vanishing around a corner. He hated it, these tricks his mind was playing on him, throwing false hope in his face. It was a cruel thing, and the depression, invariably hitting him afterwards, was always so goddamn awful that after a few of these incidents he fervently wished it to just stop. He was so tired and exhausted. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand this.

After his defection from the Federation and his subsequent captivity on Terok Nor, his life had been turned into a continuous struggle. Being on the run had been a terrible experience. Cut off from family and friends, he had felt so alone back then. Nonetheless, there had been hope, too. Yes, everything around him had felt new and frightening, but he had been determined to adapt. He had always been good with people and he wanted to find a new place for himself, a place he could hold on to, a place where he could belong.

On Terok Nor, Garak had been the first to reach out to him, a gesture that had been so startling and so unexpected it had left him as utterly bewildered at first. Practically from the beginning something had clicked between the two of them. It had been there even during their very first encounter in Terok Nor’s holding cell area. Julian had been undeniably scared, but in retrospect even his fear seemed to be laced with the tell-tale signs of attraction. During those few days he had spent on Terok Nor and later on the _Dagger_ their connection had grown fast and deepened in a way that had been as exhilarating as confusing. Between dealing with his own somewhat conflicted feelings and finding himself involved in a rebellion, he had struggled to find his way and his place. Despite everything he had been full of hope back then.

After the destruction of Terok Nor so much had happened so fast, giving him very little breathing space to think. All too often he had felt as if he were caught in a rock slide. All he could do was rush along and make certain to keep his footing.

Against all odds, and in spite of all the madness around them, the four of them had drawn together — Kira, Pavale, Garak and himself had truly become a team. The process hadn’t been smooth, far from it to be exact, but they had prevailed. Even the death of Trenn hadn’t driven them apart.

They had been a great team, regardless of all the faults and quirks that had made them squabble and argue so often. _If we had been allowed to continue, we would have been brilliant._ The thought made his throat ache and he shied away from it. There was no use in wondering what might have been, he reminded himself. He had done it before, and he knew it always left him feeling miserable for hours afterwards.

It was frightening how intensely he missed the others — fierce and fiery Kira, Pavale, calm, competent, and always somewhat aloof, and Garak, yes, Garak, maddeningly mercurial, but at the same time reliable like a strange compass that always seemed to know exactly where it was pointing to, even if it was reluctant to share that knowledge with anyone else.

Bashir closed his eyes, blocking out the darkening red of Vulcan’s sinking sun, exchanging it for the blackness of his tired mind. _I should grieve_ , he thought, _but how can I?_ He hadn’t even seen their bodies. He had been told that the explosions following the _Scarab’s_ crash had generated such high temperatures that no organic matter had been left behind. Someone even had the audacity to speak of a ‘clean death’ Bashir had felt ready to hit the woman at hearing the phrase. He had ranted and raved until the Vulcans had finally relented and had shown him pictures of the crash-site, of the large spidery web of molten desert sand and metal that covered the area. It had reminded him of a tumor, how it spread through healthy tissue, bringing death and destruction in its wake.

It wasn’t the absence of their bodies alone, however. To properly mourn one needed a place of safety and one needed time. He had neither. Instead he felt like a fox hunted by a pack of hounds, a fox that had fled into a hole underground, only to discover that its promise of shelter was a lie.

He turned away from the window and gave his room a wary look. It was relatively small, but elegantly and beautifully furnished, its simplicity a showcase for the brilliant and unique fusion of form and function. The Vulcans had a real knack for these things, and the result was meant to be both aesthetically pleasing and eminently practical. In his current state of mind the effect was not only lost on him, but it grated on his nerves, its perfection a mocking contrast to his own misery and the overall messiness and confusion of his current circumstances.

He was about to turn back to the window again when a melodic chime warned him of a visitor at his door. He sighed in frustration. Most likely it would be another Vulcan official, having come to question the prisoner.

“Enter,” Bashir said softly, straightening and clasping his hands behind his back, instinctively preparing himself for another vaguely unpleasant encounter. He had come to loathe these visits that always followed the same choreography. While his interrogators always were utterly civilized and polite, their behavior toward him still left him feeling like some small and slightly disgusting specimen trapped under a microscope’s lens.

He was a defector and a traitor. The fact was undeniable. That his motives for his defection had very much followed the same reasoning that had caused Vulcan’s own open dissent with the Federation and its current policy of appeasement toward the Dominion was something the Vulcans seemed far too eager to ignore. The realization had come as a shock to Bashir: just because he was dealing with Vulcans didn’t mean he could expect to be treated without emotional resentment, regardless how well it was masked.

He had given the matter a lot of thought and had discovered something else. It wasn’t that they didn’t acknowledge the validity of his motives — they did. What condemned him in their eyes was the fact that he had not only distanced himself from the Federation, no, the crime he had committed was something far worse: he had _joined the enemy_.

So far he had come across quite a broad spectrum of behavior. They treated him with every nuance between puzzled disbelief and cold but tightly-reined disgust. It was so unfair. It wasn’t as if he had followed a well thought-out plan. Most of the time he had simply reacted to the chain of events that had finally culminated in his somewhat impulsive decision to grab as much of the medical data he could get and run. His defection had been the result of feeling that he had reached the end of his rope; that he had to draw a line before losing himself and any sense of self-esteem as a moral human being and a doctor entirely.

Bashir was surprised when he couldn’t immediately identify the Vulcan who was now entering his room. He had been sure that by now he knew all the lower ranking officials of Vulcan’s Intelligence and Security Agency as well as the High Council’s administrative aides but this one was new.

Bashir looked at the man with cautious interest, took in the dark grey suit, elegantly cut, with clear lines, vertical Vulcan letters adorning the front of the long sleeved jacket, the impeccable hair-cut with no strand of hair out of place. The man seemed to be middle-aged, though that was rather a wild guess, the only reliable hints being the fact that his face showed some lines, but not too many, and his hair showed no grey, but was still a very dark brown, almost bordering on black. Middle-aged for a Vulcan, however, could mean anything between fifty and one hundred fifty. The word lost its meaning in light of the Vulcans natural longevity.

“I am Minister Satok,” the Vulcan said, “and I have come here to solve a problem.”

It was an ominous statement, making Bashir wonder exactly what kind of minister this Satok might be. He felt unsure how to react. In the end he settled on just a cautious, “Yes?”

“Your very presence on Vulcan is creating a situation that is fast becoming intolerable,” the minister continued. “You’re a stumbling block in this conflict between us and the Federation, a conflict that has been dealt with in the diplomatic field so far. We might not agree with the Federation’s policy of appeasement, but we are still talking with one another. Your sheer existence and continued presence on Vulcan, however, is creating more and more tensions now. The Federation is threatening us with imposing a blockade on our system. It has even become a possibility, albeit a very small one, that this situation might escalate into open conflict.” He paused and drew in a long breath before he continued, “Your presence here is becoming a threat to Vulcan, a threat I cannot and will not ignore. The only logical solution to this dilemma is to… dispose of you.”

At first Bashir simply couldn’t believe his ears. If it hadn’t been for the slight pause the minister had made at the very end, the Vulcan could have been talking about the weather instead of making a statement that sounded suspiciously like a death sentence.

While Satok had spoken Bashir had stood completely motionless as he listened to the Vulcan’s words. Bashir had been so focused he had blocked out anything else. Now he suddenly became aware of the way his muscles had tensed, how his hands clasped behind his back had entwined so tightly it hurt, how his neck and shoulders had turned as rigid as his clenched jaw.

 _I should protest. I should fight_. The thoughts floated through his mind, disassociated like they didn’t really belong to him. He felt numb. There was no sudden rising panic, no rush of frantically searching for a way out of this trap. He saw none, and why should he search for one? It seemed almost like a logical and inevitable conclusion that his life would end here. He looked down, unable to bear the minister’s silent gaze.


	2. Chapter 2

Three Weeks Earlier

 

The _Scarab_

Kira’s gaze slowly circled around the _Scarab’s_ bridge. Standing at the central command station, she studied the others around her. Garak, Pavale and Bashir all seemed busy with their tasks, their heads bowed over their stations displays, their hands busily working the controls, their movements swift and sure after spending hours familiarizing themselves with the _Scarab’s_ systems, faltering only on the rare occasion when they still got lost because of the _Scarab’s_ unfamiliar and alien controls.

Kira smiled at the scene, remembering how she had watched them the evening before. Rhys Vexel, the _Dagger’s_ captain, had invited them to his quarters for a last dinner. He had wanted to bring them together one last time before they would leave for their ultimate mission in the Gamma Quadrant.

Yesterday they’d all been in a subdued mood. Rhys had given them a lot of new information, had spread out his recently gained knowledge in front of them like a canvas, painting on it the grim picture of the ongoing war – the picture of two powers — the Federation and the Dominion — slowly overwhelming and suffocating the Alpha Quadrant in their need to establish their so-called New Order. After their taking of Bajor and Cardassia they had apparently wasted no time before setting their eyes on their next goal. The Klingon Empire found itself pressed hard by enemy forces all along its borders while its citizens found themselves suddenly bereft of any remaining friends or allies. And who was there, really, to stand up for them, to stand with them shoulder to shoulder? With Bajor and Cardassia forced under occupation only the Klingon and Romulan Empires remained free. The Romulans had never been too reliable an ally to begin with, but lately they’d become practically invisible, retreating deep within their territory, severing more and more of their ties to the rest of the quadrant. It seemed as if the eventual fall of the Klingon Empire was inevitable.

While Rhys’ picture alone would have been depressing enough, the atmosphere around the table had been cast down by something else: the careful maneuvering through a minefield of tension that had quite abruptly appeared between Rhys and Garak right after Garak’s rescue from Starfleet’s HQ on Bajor. The two men acted like wire-walkers that had met quite unexpectedly in the middle of their rope and were now cautiously negotiating who would proceed on his path and who would need to withdraw. To Kira’s surprise, it was Garak who was doing most of the withdrawing.

Kira was sure their behavior must have something to do with Trenn’s death. She knew how much Rhys had relied on his security chief, how much Rhys had trusted him. The depth of the captain’s grief had surprised her, however. She’d tried to question Rhys about it. She wanted to understand, but he had solidly refused giving her any answer. She had tried questioning Garak, even though she’d been well aware how hopeless _that_ endeavor would be in all likelihood. The Cardassian hadn’t disappointed her. That particular conversation had been a lesson in futility.

Their dinner had ended quite early. She remembered watching Garak and Bashir walking down the corridor in front of her, slowly making their way to their quarters afterwards. She’d watched Garak’s hand rest quite possessively against the small of the Human’s back, had heard the amused snort from Pavale at the same time. Kira had looked over at the Romulan walking at her side, and they had shared a smirk at the sight in front of them.

Now, the _Scarab_ was finally on her way. They’d parted ways with the _Dagger_ only an hour ago. Having finished her last system-checks, Kira took the time to watch her team.

Having manned tactical, Garak seemed completely absorbed with checking his station’s displays. More than the others he was still familiarizing himself with the _Scarab_ and her systems, having had less time to do so due to his involuntary stay at Starfleet’s HQ on Bajor. Bashir looked calm. Standing at communications, not having much to do at the moment, he answered her gaze with a slight smile and a questioning tilt of his head. She smiled back and gave him a nod. While he turned his attention to his station’s displays, she studied him a bit further. His present calmness and relaxed demeanor was a marked contrast to the way he had acted on board the _Dagger_. _He looks at home._ The idea was slightly disturbing, so much so that she felt her pulse quicken. The reaction gave her pause. Why would the thought of Bashir being at ease among them worry her? On Terok Nor, she had felt conflicted about him. She had mistrusted him because he was a Human and a defector, but more importantly she had mistrusted him because he had allied himself with Garak.

Her gaze wandered from Bashir back to the Cardassian. For whatever reason Garak had decided to hook up with the Human their relationship still felt bizarre to her. She thought she could guess Garak’s motivation – the physical attraction was obvious and the two of them seemed to be on equal footing when it came to what she considered mindless nattering about all and nothing. What drove Bashir to turn to Garak, however, was something she had far more difficulty comprehending. He was looking for protection; that much was clear. But of all the people Bashir had met on Terok Nor, choosing Garak seemed particularly foolish.

She had worked with Garak for almost five years before the station had been destroyed. While she wouldn’t call herself an expert, she believed she had a fairly good grasp on how the Cardassian’s mind worked. Of all the things she would attribute him with a marked streak of protectiveness toward others wasn’t among them. He certainly hadn’t shown any inclination of that kind toward his own people, and Terok Nor had provided ample of opportunities. Especially in the first year, the tensions between the Bajoran majority and the few remaining Cardassians had more than once led to violent outbursts. Practically from day one Garak had noticeably kept his distance from his own people. At first she had assumed it to be just a mark of his professionalism. As chief of security and the one who was supposed to keep the tensions under control, any show of favoritism for his own people would have eroded the small amount of authority his position might have granted him among the Bajorans. Later she had discovered that unravelling Garak’s motivations was as difficult as cutting through a nesting Palukoo’s web. There were layers upon layers.

On Terok Nor, Garak had even gone so far as to befriend some of the Bajorans on the station. The most prominent among those had been Nalas Prym, his second, who had died so bravely in the final self-destruction of Terok Nor, or Doctor Jabara, also dead now, another loss in the Alliance’s struggle for independence. Especially in the beginning this behavior had disturbed Kira deeply. It was bad enough that they had to work with the Cardassians, a concession to nothing but outward pressure, but to go so far as to form closer personal ties? She would rather shoot herself, she had thought. Later she had discovered that sticking to that decision, was much more difficult than she’d imagined. It quickly became downright impossible when you had to work with your erstwhile enemies as closely together as she had been forced to do. It hadn’t helped to discover that Corat Damar, the station’s commander, was a man she’d come to grudgingly respect. For a Cardassian he was almost decent, and he was so consistent in his flaws and failings that he was at least predictable enough.

Garak, however, always had been a completely different matter. He had proven to be far too good at hiding his motivations, seemingly changing his mind, his beliefs, and standpoints from one second to the next whenever it suited his interests, almost as if it was all a game to him. He had always followed his own agenda, and Kira had long ago realized she would never be privy to everything that entailed. It would have been maddening if not for two facts she had discovered on which he turned out to be as steadfast as a rock. Surprisingly enough he had been highly efficient in handling station’s security, and he did so in a fashion she could live with, displaying a far less heavy hand than she would have expected. Secondly, and even more importantly, he was absolute in his hatred of the Dominion.

“Kira?”

Garak’s question interrupted her thoughts. She realized that she must have been staring at him for quite a while, long enough that he had lost his patience and decided to call her on it.

He looked at her intently, his hands resting on his station’s controls, his posture relaxed but cautious. Kira smiled at him and just as she had done with Bashir she simply gave Garak a nod of acknowledgement. Garak didn’t smile back, but gave her a puzzled frown. Maybe her smile had unsettled him. Kira suppressed the grin she felt tugging at the corners of her mouth. No matter how much her stance toward the Cardassian might have mellowed over the years, unsettling Garak was something she would always relish.

She turned to Pavale, the last member of their team. Like Garak, the Romulan woman seemed completely absorbed in her task, possibly even more so, studying the engineering station’s readouts, making regular adjustments to their cloak. She’d complained about its efficiency regularly during the days they’d spent preparing the _Scarab_ for her mission _._ It was an old game by now and Kira knew Pavale wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d managed to get the cloak to its absolute maximum.

“How’s our cloak’s efficiency?” she asked Pavale.

The Romulan looked up at her, a deep frown on her face. “Right now, I’m stuck at 93 percent,” she answered, her normally melodious voice almost a growl of frustration.

Kira couldn’t help but grin in response. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find the missing 7 percent eventually. It’s at least a day until we reach the wormhole, so you still have some time,” she answered.

Pavale grimaced in return. “Don’t mock me, Kira,” she chided, sounding unexpectedly serious, “especially when it comes to our cloak. You know how much depends on it.”  

Pavale was right, of course, and Kira gave her an acknowledging bow and a rueful smile. “Sorry. I know you’ll do your best. I trust you,” she said, making sure to put some extra emphasis on the last words, making certain Pavale understood the difference between Kira’s teasing and her confidence in Pavale’s capabilities as an engineer. She was pleased to see the instantly mollified expression on the Romulan’s face. Pavale was still a bit of a mystery to Kira, though what Kira had seen so far hadn’t given her any true cause to question Pavale’s place among their team. That coupled with the fact that Rhys had vouched for her had cemented Kira’s acceptance of Pavale at face value. At first the engineer had seemed to have a somewhat mean streak, but that impression had soon lessened, and she had handled herself well during their ‘acquisition’ of the _Scarab_.

Returning her attention to her own station Kira did a last check-up. It was time to get going, she decided. “I’m setting a course for our rendezvous point with the _Intrepid._ Time until we reach our destination: approximately twelve hours,” she announced. One after the other came the acknowledgements from the others. Laying in the course, she brought the _Scarab_ about. For a second she hesitated before engaging their warp drive. Through the virtual display of her headset she stared at the surrounding space. They were about to do what they had planned for so long, taking the fight back to the Dominion, taking it to the very centre of it by going for its heart. She took a deep breath and finally engaged the _Scarab’s_ engines. She watched as the pinpricks of stars around them changed to the familiar streaks of the enveloping warp-field.

Turning to the others she said, “There’s no reason for all of us to stay on the bridge the whole time. Why don’t you take the opportunity to make yourself useful somewhere else or catch some rest?” She smirked. “Of course, simply sitting down is always an option, too.”

Bashir nodded eagerly. “I have some storing to do,” he said. After a brief glance in Garak’s direction he left his station and headed toward the bridge’s entrance, but stopped again before he had even reached the door. Turning toward Kira, he asked, “You’ll call me when something important happens, will you?”

The question was foolish. Of course she would call him, what else was there to do? With only four people on the _Scarab_ in a contact or battle situation, every one of them was needed on the bridge. _Not as sure of his position as I’ve believed him to be_ , she thought. Cocking her head, she gave him a patient look. “Yes Bashir, as soon as anything out of the ordinary happens, I’ll call you. Not doing so would be rather stupid, don’t you think?”

At her slightly patronizing tone, he ducked his head and gave her one of his lopsided grins before he hastily headed off the bridge.

She chuckled and heard Pavale behind her join in. She looked over at Garak and saw him roll his eyes in silent exasperation. Addressing both of them she repeated, “I’ll take the first shift. Why don’t the two of you follow Bashir’s example and find something equally useful to do?”

While Garak simply nodded Pavale started to protest. “I’d rather work on our cloak for a while longer,” she answered.

Kira cut her short. “Come on, Belle. You’ve worked on that cloak for days. 97 percent is good enough for now. Go, get some rest. You can take over in four hours and try tweaking it again.”

Pavale grumbled under her breath, but together with Garak she left the bridge. Kira threw another look around the circle of now deserted stations. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fleetingly considering following Pavale’s example by shutting down her station’s controls and using it as an improvised seat. The Romulan had done so during the _Scarab’s_ first test-flights, and the idea of getting off her feet for a while seemed quite alluring. Kira didn’t follow through with it, however. There was at least a minimal amount of decorum she should keep up, she decided. Instead of sitting down she just leaned forward, resting her elbows on her station and taking at least part of her weight off her feet.

 _Finally we’re on our way_. Over and over the thought played through her mind. In spite of all the obstacles they had made it this far. Granted there was still so much that could go wrong, but still. In less than a day they would rendezvous with the _Intrepid_ and after that: the Gamma Quadrant. She closed her eyes, blocking out the constant stream of data her headset’s display provided, and let her head loll forward. _Prophets, I truly hope you’re hanging in there with us,_ she murmured. She wondered if there was more she should say. _We’re sure going to need it before the end_ , she finally added somewhat laconically.

 ***

 Bashir groaned in frustration. The damned container simply wouldn’t fit. He stared at the small wall compartment in front of him and the container with essential medical supplies that was stuck halfway-stowed. It had taken him a considerable amount of wheedling to convince Captain Rhys to part with these. At first the old Romulan had flat out refused, stating that a few medkits were more than enough for their needs. The implication that their attempt to reach the Gamma Quadrant and the Homeworld of the Founders was a suicide mission anyway had hung heavy in the air between them, though it had remained unspoken. Bashir hadn’t relented, arguing that they couldn’t predict everything that might happen. With so few people on board the _Scarab,_ it was imperative that they were able to deal with any injuries as well as possible. In the end the captain had given in, though Bashir suspected that to some extent Rhys had done so just to get the bothersome Human out of his hair.

He gave the container another hard push, but only managed to wedge it in another few inches before it became even more firmly stuck. He glared at the box, then gripped and pulled to get it out once again. Naturally that didn’t work either.

“Why, Bashir, shouldn’t a doctor be a bit more coordinated?” Garak asked from behind him.

Bashir flinched. He had been so focused on his task that he hadn’t heard Garak come in. Now he realized how close the Cardassian had managed to sneak up on Bashir, until he was standing directly behind him, his voice so close to Bashir’s ear that warm breath ghosted over his neck as Garak spoke.

“It looks like a close fit, but with a bit more delicacy you should get it in easily.”

The words were accompanied by a hand lightly resting on his shoulder. Bashir snorted at the obvious innuendo. He searched for a witty reply, when another idea struck him. Taking a half step back, he came up flush against Garak, hearing and relishing the other man’s startled intake of breath in response to it.

In the last few days while they had finished their preparations of the _Scarab_ there had never been more than fleeting touches between them, a hand on his shoulder or at his elbow the very most Garak seemed to be comfortable with, at least in public. The nights hadn’t been much better. Either they’d been just too tired for anything more strenuous happening than a quick, stolen kiss or Garak hadn’t shown up in his quarters at all. When Bashir had asked, Garak had only told him that there were still plans to be made, and that he was conferring with Kira and the captain.

Bashir had acknowledged his explanations with grumbling acceptance. It had seemed childish to complain, considering the situation they were facing. Now, however, things had changed, hadn’t they? Their preparations finished and all plans made, the _Scarab_ was finally on her way. Pressing back against Garak he asked, “You think?” Then he added coyly, “Well, when it comes to tight fits and shoving things in somewhere, I certainly submit to your expertise, though I’m not entirely sure about the delicacy part.” He pressed back harder. Garak reacted with another startled grunt and Bashir grinned at the sound. His victory was short-lived though as a sharp bite at his neck caused him to yelp in indignation. “Hey!” he exclaimed, turning around and bringing his hands up to the Cardassian’s chest. Bashir gave him a glowering look. “What was that for?” he asked.

“Really, Bashir, don’t you have the slightest bit of modesty?” Garak answered, his eyeridges raised, returning Bashir’s accusatory look with one of exasperated disbelief that looked almost genuine.

Before Bashir could come up with anything half-way intelligent, Garak turned away and headed for the small room’s door. Casting a look over his shoulder, he said, “Stop fiddling with that container. I’m hungry and tired. Come and join me in the mess.” Without waiting for a reply, he stepped out into the _Scarab’s_ narrow corridor.

Bashir huffed in annoyance. The man was such a terrible tease. Of course, Bashir had known that from the very beginning of their acquaintance, but since sex had become a part of the equation, things had become even more confusing and occasionally much more frustrating for Bashir than before. He yanked the container out of the compartment he had tried to wedge it in and pushed it underneath the bio-bed at the room’s far side. He would find a better spot for it later.

During the preparations for their mission, they had found a room close enough to the bridge that seemed perfect to store their food, as little as they deemed necessary taking with them. It also held the luxury of a table and a few chairs, a commodity they had fast learned to cherish, especially after having spent some hours on the bridge that was decidedly _lacking_ in the chair department. They’d jokingly declared the room their mess hall.

Entering the room close on Garak’s heels, Bashir saw Pavale already sitting at the table. She looked tired, her shoulders slightly hunched, her hair more disheveled than normal even considering her particular and slightly messy standards. She’d gotten herself a bottle of water and a unit of the pre-packaged food from their stack of provisions, though both stood in front of her, obviously untouched. She looked up when they entered the room and gave them a surprisingly friendly smile. She seemed honestly pleased to see them. “I was wondering if I’d see you here,” she said.

Her voice sounded so teasing that for a second Bashir wondered if she could have seen him and Garak. Could it be that she had been standing in the corridor outside of the small room that Bashir had chosen as an improvised sickbay? No, he rejected the idea immediately. While her presence there might have gone unnoticed by him, Garak most certainly _would_ have noticed her. No, he concluded, she was just teasing them out of habit. He grinned at herm but said nothing in return. He was sure he could rely on Garak for an answer.

Garak rummaged through their provisions. He grabbed two more water bottles and food packages and handed one of each over to Bashir before he looked at Pavale. Cocking his head, he asked, “Really, and why is that? Were you expecting Bashir to be too obsessed tinkering with his medical equipment?” He gave her an equally mocking smile as he sat down opposite from her. Expectantly he looked up at Bashir.

For a second Bashir felt undecided. He was more than content to listen, but he wanted to watch, too. Watching and listening to the slightly barbed banter that had become the default mode between Garak and Pavale whenever there weren’t any more pressing matters to discuss was always something he looked forward to. He considered remaining standing, just to give him the best vantage point, but a look at Garak’s face quickly put an end to that idea. Bashir sat down beside him.

“So, we’re finally on our way,” Pavale said, her look wandering back and forth between the two of them. “I have to admit I would’ve never expected us to get this far. Oh well, there’s still a good chance that it will be deadly for all of us, but at least we’re going down in style.” Raising a hand, she made a sweeping motion indicating their surroundings. She gave them a tight-lipped smile, as if she couldn’t decide if she should keep their conversation light or allow it to turn serious.

Instead of replying, Garak only looked at her and took a sip from his water bottle. Pavale’s sudden change of subject back to their mission seemed to have stunted his interest in the conversation. Bashir couldn’t understand why. Was it Pavale’s none too subtle reminder how slim their chances of success and survival actually were? _That_ observation wasn’t exactly new.

They all knew that making it to the Gamma Quadrant alive would be difficult enough, but after lengthy discussions they had managed to convince themselves they had an actual chance of making it. Even Pavale had agreed and she was always prone to assume the worst. Finding the planet of the Founders and actually deploying whatever weapon would be at their disposal then; that was quite another matter. The number of unknown variables increased exponentially when it came to that stage of their plan. Still it wasn’t impossible and there were factors that spoke in their favor, like being in possession of a fully functioning Dominion fighter. It was afterwards when thinking about their possible return to the Alpha Quadrant when things started to get really fuzzy and incalculable. Most likely there would be nothing else to do but run — run for their lives and hope for the best. Naturally it was at that point that Pavale always remarked that it would all end in tears.

“I wonder what kind of weapon the Vulcans have come up with,” Pavale spoke into the silence that had fallen between them.

Garak hummed and for a moment Bashir expected him to keep silent, but then the Cardassian seemed to change his mind and visibly pulled himself together. Adopting the tone of slight mockery Pavale had greeted them with earlier, he said, “Something suitably effective, I expect. As long as they don’t lose themselves in moral prattling, one can normally rely on them.” He gave Bashir a sideways glance as if he was waiting for the inevitable protest.

Bashir, however, had no intention of opening that can of worms again, certainly not now and certainly not with both Garak and Pavale present. He had made his stance on the matter clear before. He couldn’t approve of a strategy that involved genocide. If they thought of this as moral prattling, that was their prerogative, but there were some principles he wouldn’t give up regardless how dire the circumstances. He returned Garak’s look with a frown, but kept his tongue and concentrated on his food.

Pavale, however, had no such reservations. With a rude scoff, she answered, “I hope you’re right, for the sake of all of us.” Then she dropped her more serious stance once again. “Really, Garak? I’m surprised to hear such high praise for the Vulcans from you. I never knew you had a soft spot in your heart for them.” Her eyes widened in mock surprise as she looked at him.

Garak gave her an affronted look in return. “My dear, I have no idea what you’re trying to insinuate here. I have it on good authority that I don’t even have a heart, not to mention any soft spots.” He grinned at her.

Pavale grinned back, though she let her gaze flick briefly to Bashir and back again, raising an eyebrow as if she wanted to say ‘And whom do you think you can fool with _that_ kind of statement?’ She remained silent, however, and Garak seemed content to ignore her silent comment.

Bashir smiled to himself as he listened to them both, not for the first time wondering what strange fate had brought them all together. He was startled out of his reverie when Garak said, “This has been a most pleasant meal, but I think we should try to get some sleep before we reach our rendezvous point.” He rose to his feet, giving Bashir a questioning look.

“Um, yes, I think we should,” Bashir answered, smiling at Pavale before he looked up at Garak again. For a second he thought that Pavale almost seemed disappointed, but then she gave them a curt nod, her facial expression assuming the professional calm gaze that didn’t give away anything of her true feelings.

Bashir and Garak left the mess and slowly made their way to their quarters. Being a crew of only four meant that they had plenty of rooms to choose from when it came to accommodations and so the two of them had settled on one of the larger crew quarters. It hadn’t taken them long to adjust it to their basic needs. They’d just pushed together two of the narrow cots they’d found there, creating a sleeping space large enough for them both.

Entering their quarters, Bashir gave the room a scrutinizing gaze. Aside from their improvised bed the room was practically bare. He let himself fall heavily on that double-cot, idly watching Garak as he started to slowly undress. Bashir’s thoughts returned to the small interlude in his sickbay aka storage closet.

Garak noticed his scrutiny and paused. “What?” He asked. When no immediate answer was forthcoming he returned to unfastening his shirt, giving Bashir a bemused look.

“You’re an awful tease, you know that?” Bashir said at last. As Garak continued to stare at him, he added, “Come here.”

Garak scoffed at him, but relented almost immediately. Moving over to Bashir and sitting down beside him, he asked, “And why is that?” He raised his hand, letting it brush gently over Bashir’s shoulder, bringing it around to cup the nape of his neck.

It felt good and Bashir relaxed under the touch. He chuckled, remembering his futile wrestling match with the supplies container. Closing his eyes he took a slow breath, leaning into Garak’s touch. Lips brushed over his own, a fleeting sensation, gone before he had time to properly relish it. Garak pulled back, breaking the contact, leaving coldness behind where his hand had rested warm against Bashir’s skin.

“Undress. Let’s try to get some sleep now while we can,” Garak said.

Bashir looked at him for a moment in open exasperation. He had entertained some ideas what might happen when they would finally retire to these quarters. He felt disappointed at Garak’s withdrawal and matter-of-fact tone. Nonetheless Garak’s suggestion felt far more sensible now than Bashir’s fantasies, regardless how alluring they had seemed earlier. With a resigned sigh he leaned forward to untie his boots.

Getting comfortable on their makeshift bed proved to be a bit of a challenge, but after some maneuvering they finally settled in with Bashir on his back and Garak half draped over him, uttering a few desultory complaints about too many bones and not enough flesh, and afterwards more serious grumbling when Bashir reacted by absent-mindedly stroking an arm and a shoulder.

“I’m not a pet, Bashir,” Garak muttered gruffly.

Bashir chuckled. “No, you’re not. Don’t worry, there’s no chance for that kind of misunderstanding. Now, follow your own advice and sleep.” To his surprise there was no repartee, just a sigh, warm breath ghosting over Bashir’s neck, where Garak’s head rested closely beside his own. He felt the Cardassian’s breath slowly even out. For a moment Bashir envied him the ability to simply go to sleep like that. He wondered how long it would take him to doze off. It turned out to be his last thought before sleep claimed him, too.

 ***

 Garak had been woken by Pavale six hours later. He had left Bashir still deeply asleep and had returned to the bridge to take over from her. Now he was busily checking the _Scarab’s_ systems, trying to perfect his grasp on handling the ship’s systems.

To his chagrin his thoughts kept returning again and again to the warmth of the bed he had left earlier and his sleeping companion in it. It had cost him quite a lot of self-discipline to carefully extricate himself without waking Bashir and not give in to the impulse of waking him up and indulging in something more recreational than bridge duty.

He had even considered calling Pavale to ask her if she could cover for another half an hour or so. Instead he had lain in the almost complete darkness of their quarters and had studied the barely visible contours of Bashir’s face.

He was well aware of Bashir’s disappointment and frustration that Garak had stopped or ignored most of his advances lately. It was hard to miss. The younger man was ridiculously transparent. Nonetheless Garak thought it was better to keep a certain amount of distance between them. Considering their circumstances, this was certainly the sensible choice he told himself. This mission would be difficult enough. He really didn’t need any further emotional entanglements. Yes, he was sure that a certain amount of detachment was the best possible strategy for the time being. He only wished that his mind wouldn’t be so persistent in throwing doubts at him, warning him that he probably shouldn’t trust his own reasoning too easily in this. When it came to Bashir, his normally impeccable rationale seemed seriously lacking, and that was putting it mildly.

He sighed and stretched his back. Calling himself to order, he firmly returned his attention back to the _Scarab’s_ systems. So far neither Pavale nor Kira had shown up, but he expected them any minute now. The _Scarab_ would reach their rendezvous point with the _Intrepid_ in less than an hour. He was sure that Kira would want ample time to do a thorough scan of the surrounding sector of space. Garak had used a good portion of his time on the bridge to familiarize himself with one of the _Scarab’s_ virtual display headsets. It was a strange way of accessing sensor scan information, and he had discovered that it required quite some effort to coordinate the use of the headset and his station’s controls at the same time. It took him more than an hour to develop a firm enough grasp of the technology that made him feel at least halfway satisfied.

He was just considering another complete check of their tactical systems — not really necessary at this point, but it would help pass the time — when Kira strode in.

“Report,” she ordered, walking to her command station, only giving him a fleeting glance as she unlocked her station’s controls.

For a second, a strong memory of their time on Terok Nor crossed his mind: Kira striding into his office, dropping into one of the chairs in front of his desk, giving the same order. It had been a ritual between them shared twice a week. The first number of times it had irritated him profoundly. As his commanding officer she should ask him to come to _her_ office to report to her and not come to _his_ , but she seemed to think it was unnecessary to adhere to proper protocol. At first he had taken it as a personal affront, only slowly realizing that it wasn’t, at least not by her own, strange standards. The first hint had been when she’d actually apologized for being late one day. He had stared at her so long she’d actually asked him if everything was all right with him, almost causing him to snicker at the incongruity of being asked by a Bajoran, a Bajoran of all people, if everything was all right. He had understood then that she truly didn’t understand the importance of adhering to proper hierarchy, or, even more likely, that she simply didn’t care. It was a shocking thought, though a very small part of him secretly cheered at her disregard.

During the years, a second function of her visits had slowly become apparent to him. To her those visits were a reprieve from Ops. Even though it was still station’s business they were discussing in his office - it was a different perspective on the same small world.

So, reporting to Kira was a well versed and comfortable role for him, though maybe not exactly second nature - that would stretch the metaphor a bit too far, considering that they still were a Cardassian and a Bajoran, but comfortable nonetheless.

“We should reach the rendezvous coordinates within the next hour. There are no signs of any other ships in the vicinity, though we’re still too far away even for our long-range sensors. Ship’s functions are all within normal parameters,” he said, then added with a slight smile, “Oh, and our indefatigable engineer must have found at least 2 of her missing 7 percent, because our cloak’s efficiency is up to 95 percent now.”

Kira looked over at him, answering his grin with a smirk of her own. Before she could answer, however, Pavale’s voice sounded from the bridge’s entrance.

“I heard that! And I strongly disapprove of your nonchalant attitude toward bringing our ship up to peak efficiency.”

Pavale circled the bridge, studying some of the wall displays. In passing she gave him a casual slap on the shoulder. “Especially from you, Garak, I had expected a bit more professional appreciation for my work, considering how much you normally enjoy chastising others for their sloppiness,” she continued.

Finally stepping behind her station, she brought it to life. Unlocking her controls, she gave both of them a challenging look, full of half-mocking scolding. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, obviously waiting for some kind of apology. Kira gave Pavale a nod of agreement, smoothly switching sides, and turned to Garak, mirroring Pavale’s posture by crossing her arms, too, obviously not in the least bit ashamed of siding with the Romulan. Pavale in turn focused the full force of her disapproval on Garak. She stood there, the scold still firmly in place on her face, her eyebrows raised while her narrowed eyes betrayed a barely supressed fit of laughter.

There was obviously no alternative but to give in, so taking a half-step back from his station, he spread his arms slightly at his sides and gave a half bow and remaining in this position of deference he said, “My humblest apologies. You are, of course, the very paragon of excellency, while your work is the very model of engineering proficiency.”

He was met by a double snort from both women. ”Apology accepted,” Pavale said, her voice sounding haughty now, with only the slightest bit of tremor that belied how close she still was to laughter.

A glance at Kira showed him that the Bajoran had lowered her head, most probably to hide her gloating. Her fingers practically stabbed at one of her station’s controls as she said in a suspiciously neutral voice, “Bashir, come to the bridge. It’s not long until we reach our rendezvous point with the _Intrepid_ and I want you at communications.”

There was a moment of silence and Garak imagined Bashir, who’d most likely been still asleep. He knew how the young man reacted to being woken abruptly, easily picturing the slight flailing about, the following hunt for his communicator. Finally Bashir’s voice came over the _Scarab’s_ intercom system, sounding slightly slurred as he acknowledged Kira’s summons.

A few minutes later a slightly disheveled looking Bashir joined them. He moved quickly to his station, collecting the _Scarab’s_ second headset from Garak on his way. At his station he put the headset on and busied himself with the controls. Garak noticed his aptitude with approval. Bashir’s movements clearly showed how well he had familiarized himself with his responsibilities. Obviously satisfied with his check-up Bashir finally looked up and after a fleeting glance at Garak he focused his attention on Kira, nodding at her, declaring his readiness.

Kira cleared her throat. “Ok, listen carefully. We’ve almost reached our destination. where we will meet up with the _Intrepid_. As you know, she’s one of the three ships that will aid us in our attempt to get to and through the wormhole. I know, we’ve already discussed this excessively.” She gazed pointedly at Garak, making it quite clear who in her opinion had done most of that excessive discussing. “I’m sure that we can trust those vessels and their captains to do their best. They are prepared to do virtually everything to get us through the wormhole. The _Intrepid_ will also provide us with a weapon, and yes, Pavale, we still don’t know what exactly that will be.” This time her gaze wandered to the Romulan. “But I trust the Vulcans to have come up with something effective.” Looking down at her station’s central display, she added, “We should be in sensor range by now. What have we got, Bashir?”

“There’s one ship present at the agreed rendezvous coordinates. No other ships are present in this area of space, no communications detected, nor any other anomalies that might indicate a trap or an ambush,” Bashir answered as he studied both his headset’s and his station’s displays.

“Pavale, prepare to drop out of warp. We’ll remain cloaked until we have a positive identification on the _Intrepid,_ ” Kira said.

“I’m already at it,” Garak chimed in. Identifying the large Starfleet vessel would be easy enough, once they’d left warp and were close enough for a more thorough scan, even if the Federation vessel wouldn’t be sending her normal signal of identification.

“Dropping out of warp,” Pavale announced.

Garak immediately started his scans, checking the unknown ships configurations. “The specs match the _Intrepid’s_ ,” he declared.

“Shall I hail them?” asked Bashir.

Kira nodded. “Yes, send the arranged signal.”

Bashir pressed a button and they waited in tense silence for the reply.

“They are responding,” Bashir exclaimed a few seconds later, his voice just a little too loud, his excitement clearly visible in the jerk of his head as he first looked up, then, raising his headset’s little display, casting quick glances in Pavale’s and Garak’s direction. “The signal and code are both valid,” he continued with a grin.

“Very good, tell them to expect two to beam aboard. Garak, you’re with me. Pavale, make certain you drop our cloak only as long as is absolutely necessary to beam us over,” Kira answered.

Garak locked his station down and stepped over to the small transporter platform where he waited for Kira to join him. It took Pavale less than a minute to bring the _Scarab_ alongside the much larger Starfleet vessel. Finally she asked, “Ready?”

Garak nodded curtly and saw Kira do the same. He braced himself and his right hand involuntarily went to his waist in search of his disruptor. Of course, there wasn’t one. In this Kira had been adamant. There would be no weapons when they beamed over to the _Intrepid,_ she had stated. Grudgingly he had acquiesced. Now, however, he felt decidedly naked as the soft tingling of the transporter beam set in.


	3. Chapter 3

The _Intrepid_

Garak materialized on board the _Intrepid_ only to find himself facing a group of three, grim looking Vulcan security guards, their phasers threateningly aimed at Kira and him. Giving her a sidelong glance, he carefully raised his hands. He wasn’t sure if the guards were only a safety measure the Vulcans felt necessary or if he and Kira had just walked into a trap after all, but he felt it was probably best to err on the side of caution. Biting back the sarcastic comment about beaming over unarmed that was treacherously close on his tongue, he waited for her to take the initiative. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I’m Major Kira,” she stated matter-of-factly.

The introduction was a bit anticlimactic for Garak’s taste, though he noticed with interest that Kira hadn’t raised her hands. Obviously she considered the situation far less a threat than he did. With an inward sigh he lowered his own hands. Interestingly she had used her rank. That was something she hadn’t done for quite some time, not since their escape from Terok Nor. _She’s staking a claim_ , he thought, _assuming a position of authority_. He would have preferred something with a bit more flourish on her part. He had to admit, though, that her style of understatement combined with her somewhat aggressive stance that completely ignored the fact that they had just beamed on board an enemy vessel and that they were both outgunned and outnumbered, had its own peculiar charm, too. He wondered why she hadn’t introduced him, but before he could do so himself a woman’s voice, coming from the transporter room’s door, beat him to it.

“Lower your phasers,” she commanded.

The security guards reacted instantly. Lowering their phasers, they stepped aside to reveal a petite Vulcan woman, clad in the red of Starfleet Command, her insignia identifying her as a the captain of the _Intrepid,_ standing behind them.

“I’m Captain T’Lara,” the woman said. “Welcome aboard. Since we’re on a very tight schedule, we shouldn’t waste any time, so if you’ll follow me, please.” She made a polite gesture in the direction of the transporter room’s doors before she walked toward them, obviously expecting Kira and Garak to follow.

Kira stepped down from the transporter platform and purposefully strode after the captain. Garak hastened to follow them both, all too conscious of the three security men behind him as they moved through the _Intrepid’s_ corridors. At least they had the courtesy to holster their phasers, he thought.

It took them no more than a few turns before they entered what looked like a small conference room. There was a table in the room’s center. A young Vulcan sat at the table’s side, his hands neatly folded in front of him on the table’s top.

“Have a seat,” the captain told them.

After Kira and Garak had sat down, she continued, “This is Lieutenant Commander Selek. He’s here to explain _this_ to you.” She pointed at a small cylinder that lay on the table. It had drawn Garak’s attention immediately upon entering the room. He had guessed at its purpose and obviously he had guessed right. He exchanged a look with Kira.

The small size hinted at a biological or chemical weapon, but before he could continue his speculations the captain addressed them again.

“We’re going to leave in one hour, heading straight for the wormhole. Your ship will remain cloaked of course. The _Intrepid_ has been recalled to Vulcan. The direct route will take us into the immediate vicinity of the wormhole. The _T’Kumbra_ and the _Hera_ will join us en route. It will be our job to create enough of a diversion to allow you to enter the wormhole and make it through undetected.”

Kira nodded. Pointing at the cylinder, she asked the question that had been most prominent in Garak’s mind all the while, “What’s this?”

It was the young commander that answered. “It’s the epitome of barbarism,” he said, his tone of voice well beyond freezing, lacking any inflection. “It’s a weapon that shouldn’t exist, that shouldn’t have been contrived, least of all by a Vulcan mind.”

“That’s enough, Selek,” the captain interrupted him sharply. “The decision to use this—” She gestured toward the cylinder, and there was a slight hint of revulsion on the woman’s face as she looked at the cylinder, as if she secretly shared her commander’s misgivings, but wouldn’t verbalize them. She paused for a moment then spoke up again, “The decision to use this has already been made and it’s not your place to discuss its ethical implications.” She gave the Commander a stern look. “You’re here to explain how it should be stored and how it’s safely deployed, nothing more.” Her voice was as sharp as her gaze as she said the last words. The Commander nodded curtly in acknowledgement yet his face clearly showed his lingering disapproval.

“The storage should be rather uncomplicated. The casing can withstand anything apart from a direct hit with a disruptor. As to the deployment, there you’ll have to be more careful. The cylinder and its contents wouldn’t survive an atmospheric entry. It’s designed to be deployed within an atmosphere. Since the Dominion’s Jem’Hadar fighters do have the ability for atmospheric flight that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. You only have to enter the atmosphere of the planet in question and drop the cylinder or beam it down. The cylinder has a time-coded lock. It needs to be programmed manually to prevent tampering. It also means that you have to set it first, then deploy it.”

“What exactly is it?” Garak asked. It was all well and good to receive such detailed instructions what to do with it, but he wanted to understand what it was, and if it was secure. They needed a one hundred percent reliable way to get rid of those Founders. There was no margin for error. They most certainly wouldn’t have a second chance at trying if they failed this time.

He saw the captain slowly shaking her head. “There you’ll have to trust us. The method is fail-safe. That is all you need to know.”

“But it will kill the Founders?” Garak insisted, his gaze fixed on the captain’s face.

Again she shook her head.

Garak felt white hot anger rise in his chest. He wanted to shout at the woman, calling her out on her foolishness and hypocrisy.

Kira beat him to it.

“Captain, without a reliable way to get rid of the Founders there is no point in trying to get to the Gamma Quadrant. Surely you must see—” Kira began hotly, only to be interrupted by the captain.

“This weapon, Major, will neutralize the Founders effectively! It might not be what you have hoped for but we’re not interested in fulfilling your desire for revenge. Neither are we prepared to satisfy your barbaric wishes for genocide. Nonetheless I can assure you that this weapon will accomplish what it needs to do.” The captain’s tone was tightly-controlled, yet icy.

“And I would advise against any probing to analyze the cylinders contents. It can’t be safely opened. Any attempt to determine its content will trigger an immediate release and I guarantee you: you don’t want to do that on board your ship,” the commander interjected. He paused, then added, “Or anywhere else for that matter.”

“I don’t understand,” Kira said. “How can you take such a risk? Choosing a less than lethal weapon seems— illogical.”

There was a marked pause before her last word and Garak was certain she’d meant to say something quite different, changing her phrasing at the last moment. “At least tell us what its effect will be.” Kira practically pleaded.

The commander was obviously eager to answer. He straightened even further and he leaned forward aggressively, but the captain stopped him with just a look.

“We can’t,” she said. “This whole operation was planned and is executed without any official involvement of the Vulcan High Council. Our government would most certainly refuse to take any part in such drastic actions as we plan to take. Consider our withholding of this information a necessary precaution.”

Now it was Kira’s turn to lean forward as she was getting more and more frustrated by the way their discussion was progressing. “A precaution against what? To whom could we talk about this? Are you telling us that you’ve gone rogue for this? Is that it, Captain?” Kira asked.

Garak couldn’t help but applaud her for her tenacity. This time both Vulcans reacted with open hostility.

“We’ve most certainly haven’t gone _rogue_ ,” the captain shot back, her lips curling in something that looked suspiciously like disdain.

Kira looked nonplussed, but Garak smiled. It had suddenly dawned on him who was involved here. Deciding that it was high time, he contributed to the conversation, he said, “It’s the V’Shar that’s coordinating our dear Vulcans’ efforts, Major,” he said to Kira, while he kept an eye on the two Vulcans, intent on detecting any reaction that would confirm his suspicion. To his surprise they didn’t try to hide it, but instead the captain actually nodded, confirming his words.

At Kira puzzled look, Garak continued, “The V’Shar, also known under its full name the ‘Vulcan Intelligence and Security agency’, is as the name suggests the Vulcans penchant to our Obsidian Order or the Romulan Tal Shiar. At his words, he saw a slight frown on the captain’s face. Most likely she was disapproving of Garak’s comparison. Directly addressing her, he said, “If the V’Shar is involved I have no doubts concerning the suitability of your weapon, even though I still think it’s unwise to withhold information of this weapon’s capabilities from us.”

Captain T’Lara only gave him a brief look before she focused on Kira again. Picking up a PADD, the captain held it out to her. “This is all the necessary information for our scheduled flight back to Vulcan. It’s encrypted, of course. We’ll send the decryption key once you’re back on the _Scarab_. We’ll leave in an hour. Communication silence will be held under all circumstances,” she told them, her words a rapid staccato. She looked back and forth between Kira and Garak, waiting until both of them nodded.

There was no reason to question _that_ part of the plan, Garak thought. It was straightforward enough. The _Scarab_ would travel with the three Starfleet vessels. Once they’d reached the vicinity of the wormhole, the _Intrepid_ , the _T’Kumbra_ and the _Hera_ would stage a commotion that hopefully would draw away most of the Dominion forces that were stationed near the wormhole to guard it.

The fully cloaked _Scarab_ would make a run for it, and try to sneak through as soon as a Dominion vessel left for the Gamma Quadrant, following in the Dominion ship’s wake. Since there was always regular traffic coming and going through the wormhole their chances were good that this plan could work.

Captain T’Lara and the commander briskly rose to their feet and Kira and Garak could only follow suit. Their walk back to the transporter room was a silent and slightly hurried affair. It was clear that the Vulcans wanted to get rid of them as fast as possible.

***

The _Scarab_

Kira felt relieved once they were safely back on board the _Scarab_. Walking over to the command station, she gave Bashir an expectant look.

“Everything’s quiet outside, no communications, no presence, nothing,” he said.

 _So far, so good_ , she thought. It was a pleasant change of pace that things were going smoothly now. Handing the PADD over to Pavale, she said, “Here, see that this data is transferred to the _Scarab’s_ computer. It’s the navigational data of our upcoming approach to the wormhole. She cast a glance around, capturing the attention of every one of her team. “As soon as Pavale has transferred the data, I want you all to study it closely before we leave here.” She waited for their acknowledgements, before she continued, “I’ll be in the mess.” She received a round of nods from the others. “Pavale, call me when you’ve made the transfer.”

Heading to their mess, she thought about their visit to the _Intrepid_. She was angry at the Vulcans for coming up with a weapon, but then only delivering the stunted version. She was also angry at herself for not insisting more forcefully that they’ll be given all the available information about this non-lethal, yet effective weapon.

She had barely sat down when Garak joined her. Sitting down opposite her, he gave her a long look before leaning to the side, angling for a food package, pushing it toward her.

“I’ve stored the cylinder in one of the weapons compartments directly outside of the bridge. It’s one of the best shielded sections of our fighter and it offers easy access,” he told her. Sitting upright he looked at the packages description with an expression of slight disgust. He shrugged and ripped the package open, dumping the contents into a bowl.

“Garak,” Kira said hesitantly, her tone causing Garak to look up at her. “I think it’s best if we keep the specifics of that weapon between the two of us, at least for the time being.”

Garak looked genuinely surprised at her words. “Why? I don’t think that Bashir will have a problem with it. He’s always been touchy about the idea of genocide,” he said. Looking at Kira, he rolled his eyes, making it clear what he thought of Bashir’s sentiment in the matter.

With a shake of her head, Kira answered, “It’s certainly not Bashir I’m worried about. He’s easy enough to handle.” She gave Garak a slight smirk.

She was startled when she saw the look of sudden anger on his face, saw him opening his mouth and then closing it again as if he had changed his mind. Kira wondered what she had said that caused him to react so vehemently. She replayed the last bit of their conversation. She had said that Bashir wasn’t the one she was worried about, and there lay no big mystery in that. Among the four of them Bashir was the one whose motives and intentions were the most transparent. Even if he had a hidden agenda, she was certain she would spot it long before he would act on it.

So, what was it that had made Garak’s hackles rise like that? Was it protectiveness? The thought alone almost made her snort. That seemed highly unlikely. She studied Garak’s expression, but his face had returned to that look of polite if slightly bored interest he always produced when he wanted to hide his true feelings.

Then it suddenly struck her. Could it be that he had interpreted her comment of Bashir being easy to handle as a judgment on the nature of Garak’s and Bashir’s acquaintance? Was he troubled she might think of this relationship as purely manipulative on his part?

For a second she considered asking him about it, but then decided it was really none of her business. Most likely Garak wouldn’t give her a truthful answer anyway. She let the moment pass, and instead she said, “I’m far more concerned about Pavale. I wouldn’t put it past her to do something rash.” Kira thought she had a fairly good idea of what made their Romulan engineer tick. Pavale wasn’t the most impulsive of persons, but should she learn that their one chance of destroying the Founders might not be as effective as they hoped, Kira was worried that Pavale might indeed be tempted to do something they would all regret in the end.

She was relieved when she saw Garak nod at her. “Very well,” he answered. Then, changing the subject, he added, “I’m surprised you’ve never heard of the V’Shar, he said, his tone conversational though Kira thought she could detect something calculating in it, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of it or if he should believe her.

Kira shrugged her shoulders. “And why is that? I’ve never been much involved in intelligence work, far less than you by comparison.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile. This was a topic she really didn’t care for. She considered how to turn their conversation in another direction when a thought suddenly struck her.

“It’s a shame that we lost Trenn though. I’m sure he would have a lot to say about them. With him you might have had an ideal conversation partner, discussing the merits and failings of the Obsidian Order, the Tal Shiar, and now another one of your secret brotherhoods, this time of Vulcan. Leaning slightly forward she asked, “Tell me Garak, is there something like a secret hand-shake among your kind?” She gave him a thin smile.

“How very funny, Kira,” he answered, giving Kira an exaggerated smile, before turning deadly serious. Leaning forward too, he looked at her with eyes narrowed almost to half-slits. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Kira leaned back, wanting to regain some of the distance they seemed to have lost during their conversation. She was suddenly worried that he’d involve her into one of his paranoid speculations. She knew them from long years of experience. The man had raised mistrust and paranoia into an art-form.

“What do you mean? The V’Shar?”

He shook his head emphatically. “No, I’m talking about the fact that they’ve kept their government out of the loop. It makes me wonder about those three ships. Granted they have mostly Vulcan crews, but those crews are huge. How can they guarantee that no one talks?”

“I’m sure that a large number of those crew-members are completely unaware of our plans, but apart from that, I admit I’ve worried about that too. But it’s something we can’t control either way. I trust the Vulcans to know what they are doing.”

“Yes, but the _Hera_ even has a Human captain,” he insisted. I still can’t believe she’s so easily betraying her people.”

Kira scoffed. “Really? What about Bashir? He is betraying his people, too, isn’t he? And you’ve shown a rather uncharacteristic and almost alarming amount of trust in him almost from the very beginning.”

She saw Garak’s eyes widen perceptively. _You haven’t seen that one coming, my friend,_ she thought. It amused her to see him fidget, obviously looking for a way out.

At last he said, “That’s hardly comparable. I’ve had enough time to assess Bashir. He won’t betray us, even though he still has a lot of illusions about his precious Federation. No, I’m certainly not worried about Bashir.”

“That’s good news.” Bashir’s voice sounded from the door, making Garak flinch slightly. Kira was as surprised by the appearance of their latest object of conversation, but she wasn’t as fazed as Garak seemed to be.

Leaning against the open doorframe Bashir just looked at them, curiosity and suspicion warring on his face.

Garak pulled back a chair beside him. “Come, sit,” he said to Bashir and, realizing that he should say a bit more, he continued, “If you must know, I have voiced some concerns about the _Hera’s_ captain. I’m not convinced of her trustworthiness, but I have no such worries in your case.” He cocked his head to the side, looking up as Bashir came over to them and stood at Garak’s side.

To Kira’s surprise Bashir chuckled. She would have expected at least some form of open indignation from him, had in fact heard it quite regularly only some weeks ago aboard the _Dagger_ whenever Bashir’s trustworthiness had been called into question. Now, however, he seemed largely unconcerned. _Either he’s finally mastered the art of masking his feelings perfectly and I think that’s highly unlikely, or he’s remarkably unconcerned to be doubted and I really can’t fathom why. Or,_ she thought _, he truly believes that Garak trusts him._

The last thought left Kira feeling vaguely sorry for Bashir, but she didn’t say anything. For a while she simply watched the interaction between the two men. Bashir had gotten himself some food and, sitting down beside Garak he said, “Incidentally I know the captain of the _Hera_ personally. She taught supplementary engineering classes at Starfleet Medical Academy and I’ve come to know her quite well. To be honest, I was thrilled to hear that she and her ship would join us.” While he spoke he was busy emptying the contents of his food package into a bowl. He took a first spoonful and frowned. Looking down at it he swallowed with effort before glancing first at Garak and then the Cardassian’s bowl of food. Leaning over, he scooped some of its contents up on his spoon as if he wanted to check that Garak’s was as unpalatable as his own.

Garak only gave him a look of mild annoyance, but didn’t comment. Instead he pushed his bowl toward Bashir, who after a thoughtful chew took it with a smile.

“And what is so particularly thrilling about her involvement? Garak asked him.

“It’s that we can be absolutely sure of one thing. If Silva La Forge has decided to join us in this mission, she will see it through to the end,” Bashir replied, and both his voice and facial expression made it clear that he was absolutely convinced of his judgment.

Before Kira or Garak could react, Pavale’s voice came over the _Scarab’s_ intercom. “Nerys, I’ve finished the transfer and the decryption.”

“Convince him to put his suspicions to rest and concentrate on our own upcoming tasks,” she told Bashir, casually waving in Garak’s direction while getting up to leave for the bridge.

***

Kira returned to the bridge and not long afterwards all four of them were on the bridge, watching on their headsets and stations’ displays as the _T’Kumbra_ and _Hera_ fell into formation with the _Intrepid_ , the _Scarab_ completing the larger ships’ triangle like a small and invisible shadow.

They had followed the brief communications that were exchanged between the three ships: ordinary tidbits, greetings between their ships’ captains, an exchange about their estimated time of arrival in Vulcan’s orbit, as well as a few casual comments about their respective ship’s statuses.

Finally they were on their way, with the _Scarab_ remaining completely silent, attentively listening and keeping her relative position to the other ships perfectly synchronized so that their escort vessels radiation output would provide an extra cover for the _Scarab._

“Five minutes until we reach the vicinity of the wormhole,” Garak’s voice broke the silence.

“ _Hera_ has just informed her sister ships that they are having trouble with her warp core. They say that it might be necessary for her to cut her engines and drop out of warp. She has requested the help of the other two ships in case the situation should escalate,” Bashir spoke up, his mouth set in an unusually grim line of concentration as he took in the data his headset’s display presented.

“Belle?” Kira prompted.

“We’re ready. Our cloak is functioning perfectly. The moment we drop out of warp, I’m going to cut all our power so that we won’t present so much as a shadow on any scanner.”

“Two minutes,” Garak announced.

They waited in tense silence, until after what felt far longer than a mere two minutes, Pavale said, “Dropping out of warp—now.”

The change in the engines’ sound was almost imperceptible, but Kira’s headset’s display clearly showed her the three vessels had come out of warp around them and now surrounded them, still shielding them from prying eyes, providing extra cover in addition to their cloak.

“The _Hera_ is emitting large amounts of artron radiation. She’s signaling the other ships to stand by,” Bashir said. “There’s a request coming in from one of the wormhole’s guard ships, inquiring about the exact nature of the emergency and informing all three ships that any attempt to move in closer to the wormhole would be highly inadvisable.”

“So far so good,” Kira stated. She had no idea how long they would have to wait. With the current amount of traffic going through the wormhole it shouldn’t take them too long before a ship would approach and enter the wormhole for the Gamma Quadrant.

The next minutes ticked by in silence, until suddenly Bashir’s head jerked up. “No!” he exclaimed. He fumbled with his controls until suddenly a voice filled the _Scarab’s_ bridge, a voice Kira had heard not too long ago.

_“—repeat. This is a ploy to gain access to the wormhole. Captain T’Lara has been relieved of command and taken into custody. I am Commander Selek, assuming command of the Intrepid and awaiting new orders. Hera, T’Kumbra, I strongly advise you to stand down immediately, or we’ll be forced to open fire_ _.”_

She saw Garak frantically checking his sensors, obviously expecting the worst and by the look on his face finding it.

“Three Dominion battle cruisers are already moving toward us… estimated time until they’re in weapons range—” he started to say.

“The _T’Kumbra_ is hailing us. I’m patching her through,” Bashir interrupted him and this time an unfamiliar voice spoke up.

“This is Captain Solok of the _T’Kumbra_. I advise you to run! Make a run for Vulcan! We’re going to cover you, but run! Now!” The captain’s voice was harsh, even though he was clearly trying to keep up a façade of calm. Kira felt the hairs in the nape of her neck rise in response, an instinctive reaction to the note of suppressed anger that had coated every word the captain had said.

“Belle—” Kira began, but was interrupted by Garak, who seemed to have spotted something even more alarming.

“Nerys, the _Hera’s_ going to open fire.”

He’d barely managed to finish the sentence when Bashir cried out again, “The _Hera’s_ firing on the _Intrepid_.” His head jerked from one side to the other, as he was trying to follow everything his headset’s display was showing him. “The _Intrepid’s_ been hit. They’ve suffered major damage on their starboard warp nacelle.”

Kira couldn’t believe how fast the situation had been turned on its head. She had given up following the events unfolding on her own display and had instead focused on the information as it was given to her by the others around her. Feverishly she tried to come up with a way out for them, preferably a way that wouldn’t lead them deep into Federation space. She really didn’t want to head for Vulcan, but there was simply no alternative. They needed the cover only the _T’Kumbra_ and the _Hera_ could provide. “Pavale, get us to warp, everything the _Scarab_ has,” she ordered.

Pavale reacted instantly and in less than a second, Kira’s headset no longer displayed the rapidly closing Dominion battle cruisers but the streak of stars that signified the jump to warp. Kira sagged against her station in relief. She knew that the momentary reprieve they had bought themselves was nothing more than just that – the tiniest breathing space.

“Bashir, contact the _Hera_ and the _T’Kumbra._ Pavale see to it that the _Scarab_ runs as fast as she can,” she said. Abandoning her headset for the moment, she dropped it onto her console. Her gaze instinctively sought Garak’s. They stared at each other, and she saw her own shock and dread reflected in his eyes _. I hate it when his bad feelings turn out to be true_ , she thought.

“Vulcan,” he bit out, glaring at her. ”It’s a dead end, Kira.”

She shook her head, but before she could answer, telling him that whatever Vulcan was, it might very well be their only hope of living another day, Bashir informed them that he had the _Hera_ waiting on an encoded channel.

“Patch them through,” she told him. Immediately a new voice, this time a woman’s, filled the _Scarab’s_ bridge.

“This is Captain Silva La Forge of the _Hera_.”

Kira, still holding eye contact with Garak, saw his expression change. Slowly anger was setting in. Knowing him, she was sure it stemmed from the fact that, yes, his gut feeling had been right, but it had been directed at the wrong person, suspecting the Human captain of the _Hera_ instead of allowing for the possibility that one of the involved Vulcans involved might turn on them.

His face was a mask of bitterness. He gave her an ironic smirk and she responded by raising an eyebrow as she answered the _Hera’s_ hail. “This is Major Kira.” She refrained from saying anything else, suppressing the urge to yell at the captain, to ask her how and why in the name of the Prophets they hadn’t seen this one coming. Why they hadn’t taken any sensible precautions against such an event.

While Kira didn’t say anything of the kind, Captain La Forge’s mind seemed to follow the same line of thought. Her voice sounded apologetic as she spoke. “Major, I know this is a complete mess. Believe me I hadn’t the inkling of a doubt about the _Intrepid_. That being said, let’s see what we can salvage, shall we?”

Kira nodded and then, realizing her lapse, she answered aloud, “I hear you, Captain.”

“The _Hera_ and _T’Kumbra_ are slowly closing in on you. We’re reasonably sure that the _Intrepid_ is out of commission for now, but there are at least three Dominion battle cruisers close on our heels. Making it to Vulcan shouldn’t be a problem, but I fear that the real trouble will only start once we’ve reached Vulcan.”

“Then maybe we should look for another destination than Vulcan,” Garak threw in.

“Please ignore that, Captain,” Kira said emphatically, answering Garak’s glowering stare and jerk of the head with a silently mouthed ‘shut up.’ He did, but if possible his glower intensified. “Once we arrive in Vulcan’s orbit, what will happen?” Kira asked.

“As we speak, Captain Solok is trying to reach the V’Shar, informing them of the failure of our plans. Unfortunately the _Intrepid_ might be trying just the same with the Vulcan High Council as well as possibly Starfleet right now. Most likely that will make the situation we’re going to find ourselves in once we reach Vulcan rather volatile to say the least. We should expect both Starfleet and Dominion ships ready to confront us. We have no way of knowing how Vulcan’s own planetary defense-system will react. This won’t end without a fight, I’m afraid. I only hope it won’t escalate into an outright war with Vulcan in the middle of it.” The _Hera’s_ captain sounded increasingly harried as she spoke.

“Captain Solok and I, we both believe that the only feasible course of action will be to get the _Scarab_ into Vulcan’s atmosphere as fast as possible. Once you’re down on the planet and inside Vulcan’s planetary defense you’ll be out of Starfleet’s direct reach. We hope that will stop them from risking an immediate escalation. The _Scarab_ is capable of atmospheric flight, isn’t she?”

“She is, though she tends to behave like a slug once she’s entered an atmosphere,” Pavale interjected, grinning when Kira threw her a sharp glance before turning back to Garak.

“As long as you don’t crash, I don’t particularly care if you fly like a plucked chicken,” La Forge retorted. ”I would really regret being one of those responsible for causing the first civil war the Federation’s ever seen.”

“What about the _Hera_ and the _T’Kumbra_?” Kira asked.

“Don’t worry about us, Major. We’ll manage.” The captain paused for a moment, then she continued, “According to our estimates, it will take us two point three hours to reach our destination. I advise you to get your ship battle ready. Stand by on this frequency for further orders.” The connection was cut without waiting for a reply, creating a dead silence on the _Scarab’s_ bridge as all four of them stared at one another.

***

Garak wanted to scream at someone. No, preferably he wanted to hit someone or something, anything to release some of his frustration. He’d feared a traitor. His suspicions had automatically settled on what he had seen as the weak link among the Vulcans, the human captain of the _Hera_. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead it had been a damn Vulcan with far too much room for lofty ethics in his mind and far too little intelligence.

Now they were heading for Vulcan, against his better judgment and protest. He felt the intense desire to take the two necessary steps over to Kira and give that foolish Bajoran a good shaking, just to get some sense back into her. Only he had the troubling suspicion that he might not survive it unscathed. He resorted to yelling instead. “Major, are you out of your mind?”

Kira had turned toward Pavale, but at his words she whipped around to him. Circling her station she came toward him. The look on her face caused him to take an involuntary step backward, then another until he found himself with his back to the wall. Kira was livid with anger, her finger stabbing at his chest. She was crowding him, their bodies, though not touching, were close enough that he could feel her body-heat.

Her face had reddened and her expression was a mask of fury as she hissed at him. “You are _so_ out of line here! We might have left Terok Nor behind, but I expect you to follow my lead. Otherwise feel free to leave, preferably right now!”

Garak stared at her, the grim expression on her face, the thin line of her lips pressed tight together. He noticed not without fascination that the pupils of her eyes were tiny as pinpricks. His mind raced. For a split second he earnestly considered questioning her ability to lead this mission. He could challenge her. But rational calculation told him that Pavale most likely wouldn’t take his side and he wasn’t even sure if Bashir would. No, there might come a time when that step would be inevitable, but not yet.

He gave her the barest hint of a nod, signaling his willingness to back down and his acquiescence to the status quo. He saw her relax almost instantly. _As if she only had to throw a switch_ , he thought not without some admiration. He expected her to step back and give them both the necessary space to cool down, but to his surprise she didn’t, Instead she drew even closer and placed her open palm against his chest.

“Do you think I’m happy to head for Vulcan? If I could come up with any feasible alternative, I’d take it immediately. Heading straight into the heart of the Federation certainly isn’t my idea of a safe place to hide, but I don’t see any alternatives. Retreating into Alliance space, as little as there is, certainly wouldn’t get us any nearer to our goal, would it?” she asked him, her voice almost conciliatory.

“The _Hera’s_ hailing us again,” Bashir interrupted them, his voice sounding reluctant, even timid.

Kira didn’t react at first but kept holding eye contact, looking up at Garak as if she wanted to make sure that she had made her point and that he had really gotten it. _Or maybe she’s unsure if I might not choose to stab her in the back the moment she turns._ It was an idle thought that crossed his mind, not really an option now although he would never say never. It all depended on the circumstances.

Finally she _did_ step back. Turning to Bashir she said, “Let’s hear what they have to say.”

Once again Captain La Forge’s voice came over the _Scarab’s_ speakers. “Major Kira, we’ve been able to make contact with the V’Shar, and they’re preparing for our arrival as we speak. I haven’t been given any details, but they are aware of our situation and confident in their ability to arrange a safe entry into Vulcan’s atmosphere for the _Scarab_ without having to worry about Vulcan’s planetary defense systems. You’ll receive your instructions immediately after we get them, though it might be a close call before we approach Vulcan and have to drop out of warp. Stay sharp, _Scarab_.” Once again without waiting for an acknowledgement, Captain La Forge cut the transmission.

This time the following silence was still uneasy, but not as loaded as the last. Garak wondered what kind of plan the V’Shar might be cooking up right now. Getting the _Scarab_ safely down into Vulcan’s atmosphere was one thing, but once accomplished they would be trapped there, on a planet that was already in conflict with the rest of the Federation, their goal of driving the Dominion out of the Alpha Quadrant still unfinished and even more improbable to achieve than before.

***

The next two hours passed excruciatingly slowly. Everyone seemed to be very careful not to openly acknowledge the recent clash between him and Kira. Pavale was mostly unperturbed, though she shot him a scornful look when he checked with her on a minor glitch he had discovered in one of their phaser banks, thereby confirming his suspicion that she would have sided with Kira had he risked challenging the major.

Bashir, on the other hand, acted much like he had done during his first days on Terok Nor, displaying a mixture of puzzlement and caution, much like an inexperienced swimmer who’s gotten into deep water and, suddenly losing his confidence in his newly acquired skill, starts treading water and longs for the safety of the beach. Garak regretted that reversion, knowing that it was his actions that had caused it.

Not surprisingly, Kira was the one who behaved most like her normal self, though she had kept him under close scrutiny during the first minutes after the last communication with the _Hera_. He had halfway expected her to drag him off the bridge to give him a more thorough tongue-lashing in private. He was unsure how he would have reacted. _Maybe I’d have lost my temper and killed her after all? Oh, of course, and whom are you trying to fool? With only the four of us getting rid of Kira would be absolute suicide,_ he debated with himself. Though he felt sure that Kira would be no match for him should he ever decide to get rid of her, there remained a tiny sliver of doubt about that. The thought gave him pause. _You’re growing soft in your old age,_ he chided himself. Maybe it was all the time he had spent among aliens in the last years that was at fault, with far too many Bajorans and Romulans for his taste, and he’d always had the creeping suspicion that just by being in the mere presence of Klingons one’s intelligence was in danger of suffering a fatal drop toward stupidity. Yes, that was most likely it, he decided.

He shifted his attention back to the data the _Hera_ had transmitted to them. It was meagre to put it mildly, containing just the coordinates for the _Scarab’s_ drop out of warp inside the Vulcan system, and very little else. It also stated that the _Scarab’s_ sole objective would be a direct run for Vulcan, not heeding any fighting around her. It specified a point of entry into Vulcan’s atmosphere and a set of coordinates on the planet for landing. It ended with a strong warning that any deviation from the directions given might result in the _Scarab’s_ destruction, with a high probability of it happening by friendly fire.

After studying the data the four of them had a very brief discussion about the instructions given to them, but ultimately there wasn’t much to talk about. They had only two alternatives now: do as they were told or simply give up, and the latter wasn’t really an alternative to consider, more a method of certain suicide. They would do as they were told, drop out of warp and hope that their cloak would allow them to get down to Vulcan undetected and in one piece. It was a risky gamble, giving up the protection of their shields for their cloak. One direct hit would be fatal, and how easily could that happen in the middle of a fight?

So they waited, each of them busying themselves with ship’s operations. “Five minutes until we drop out of warp,” Pavale said at last, her voice sounding very loud after the relative quiet that had settled on the bridge. It felt almost like a spell had been broken, as everyone looked up and over to her then at one another, seeking and making eye-contact, attempting to ensure one another of their mutual support.

“Garak, as soon as we’re out of warp, I want a tactical report of what is going on in the system. Pavale, stand by to switch from cloak to shields if I say so. Bashir, you’ll help Garak and take over from him once we need our weapons. I also want you to keep an eye on any communications. Understood?” Kira said.

There were nods from all three of them and silence settled in again, albeit a very short one, once more broken by Pavale.

“Dropping out of warp in… three, two, one, now!” she announced, her hands suddenly flying over her console.

“Switching to manual,” Kira said, taking over the job of piloting the _Scarab_. She would try to stick to the straight route they’d been given, but much depended on the specifics of the situation.

Garak stared at his tactical displays, trying to collect and analyze the data as fast as he could. “The _Hera_ and the _T’Kumbra_ have dropped out of warp zero point two milliparsecs from our own point of exit. There are three other Starfleet vessels present. The _Hera_ and the _T’Kumbra_ have already se course toward them,” he rattled off.

“The _Hera_ is sending out a distress signal. They are declaring that they’ve come under attack by Dominion forces. The _T’Kumbra_ is hailing the other Starfleet ships, requesting their help,” Bashir threw in.

Garak saw the characteristic blips of further vessels coming out of warp. “The three Dominion battle cruisers just dropped out of warp, much closer to Vulcan than we have. They’ll try to cut us off. They are firing at the _Hera_ and the _T’Kumbra_.” He stopped, looking at his displays. No they weren’t, he thought, but the data he saw didn’t make any sense.

“They are using some form of dispersed weapons fire. It doesn’t seem to cause any damage though,” Bashir interjected.

“Cut our engines!” Garak yelled, ice-cold fear racing through him as he suddenly understood what the Dominion’s cruisers were doing.

Pavale and Kira reacted instantly, bringing the Scarab to a stop.

“The Dominion ships have released some kind of sensor probes, I think,” Garak said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bashir nodding almost frantically.

“They’re looking for us. They’ve practically created a mobile sensor net between us and Vulcan,” Bashir cut in breathlessly. Abruptly he went stock-still, completely focused on what his headset was showing him.

“Are you sure they’re just probes? They look much more likes mines to me,” Kira said dubiously.

Her words caused another bout of fear to shoot through Garak. He hissed, as he pulled up new data, momentarily got lost in the _Scarab’s_ system routines, remembered where to find what he was looking for and, upon seeing the new information, shouted again, “They are micro-explosives, raise our shields, now!”

Pavale was probably only a split-second too slow, but it was enough to make the _Scarab_ shudder violently as the first explosions hit her unshielded hull, clawing at her, ripping holes into her that, while not life-threatening, might soon cause failures in the fighter’s structural integrity.

Garak staggered, but caught himself, gripping his station’s railing. Kira and Pavale were doing the same, while out of the corner of his eye Garak saw Bashir go down, far too focused on the space surrounding the _Scarab_ to react quickly enough to the shudders. Garak was relieved when Bashir quickly got to his feet again, apparently unharmed.

With their cloak deactivated, speed was their best option now. Kira brought the _Scarab_ engines up to full power and the _Scarab_ sped toward Vulcan. The Dominion battle cruisers were coming toward them at a steep angle, however, and one look told Garak the bitter truth.

“We’re not going to make it,” he muttered.

As if to emphasize his words, all three cruisers opened fire. While the first shots didn’t cause any serious damage, thanks to the shields, he knew that wouldn’t last long. Kira was doing her best, trying to dodge the fire, but that slowed them down, heightening the chance of getting cut off. The _Hera_ and _T’Kumbra_ were coming up behind them, the other Starfleet vessels close at their heels, though it still wasn’t clear if they planned to assist or attack and most importantly whom.

Garak was doing his best to return the fire, but they were laughingly outgunned. The _Scarab’s_ weapons weren’t a serious threat to the heavily shielded cruisers. As if to mock them, now the Starfleet vessels opened fire, too. With a sinking feeling he saw that it was the _Hera_ and _T’Kumbra_ they were firing upon.

“The _Hera_ and _T’Kumbra_ are under attack by the other Starfleet ships,” he announced, no longer yelling. There was no need for that, all sense of immediacy had left him as he watched the drama slowly unfold. The _Scarab_ shook under another barrage and more and more alarms were ringing and flashing all around the bridge. He was looking over at Bashir, saw him jerk in sudden shock, causing Garak to hastily look back down at his own displays. What he saw made him flinch.

“The _Intrepid’s_ just come out of warp. She’s on a direct collision course with the nearest of the Dominion battle cruisers!” he shouted. All of the sudden he was back to yelling again. For whatever reason she was doing so, it seemed obvious that the _Intrepid_ was trying to create an exit-window for them, a loop-hole for the _Scarab_ to make it to Vulcan against all odds. Something had happened aboard the _Intrepid_ , something big.

Suddenly they heard a very familiar voice coming over the _Scarab’s_ speakers. “This is Captain T’Lara of the _Intrepid_. We apologize for our delay. We had a minor internal problem to sort out first, but it seems we are still in time.”

Kira grinned madly, an expression that came and was gone in an instant. “Captain, we’re glad you could make it. We hadn’t expected you at all.”

“As I said, a rather unfortunate internal problem that required some sorting out. I expect you know where you’re heading?”

“We have our instructions,” Kira answered.

“Good, then let us see that you get there. _Intrepid_ , out.”

During the short exchange, Garak saw the _Intrepid_ keeping up a heavy barrage of torpedoes aiming for two of the three battle cruisers.

“She’s really going to ram that cruiser,” Bashir said. “I can’t believe they’re actually going to do that.

Another direct hit shook the _Scarab_ and Pavale said, “Our shields are down to thirty percent, I strongly advise against another direct hit.”

“Very funny,” Kira replied through gritted teeth as she tried to dodge as much of the enemy fire as possible.

“The Dominion cruiser isn’t veering off. They seem to believe the _Intrepid’s_ bluffing. Barring any course corrections, they will impact in twenty seconds,” Garak informed them.

Kira brought them up close behind the _Intrepid_. The seconds ticked by and neither the _Intrepid_ nor the Dominion cruiser showed any intention of veering off their present collision course.

“Brace for impact!” Garak shouted at last.

For a split second he saw the _Intrepid’s_ and the Dominion cruiser’s sensor data merge, such a trivial representation of the real disaster happening in front of them. Then both ships vanished from his screen. Less than a second later they crossed into the collision zone. It was too much for their shields and it was only Kira’s fast reflexes that saved them from the worst as she veered through the debris. They took further and heavy damage, the bridge-deck bucking under them until another second later they were through.

“Belle, give me everything you’ve got,” Kira said almost pleadingly.

Once again Vulcan seemed to be beckoning to them. Against all odds they might still make it; Garak wanted them to make it, all misgivings about their destination irrelevant now that the choice was either Vulcan or certain death.

“You don’t think I’m holding back, Nerys, do you?” Pavale replied, sounding slightly exasperated. “Where do you think those one hundred and thirteen percent of engine power is coming from?”

Kira didn’t reply and Garak concentrated on following what was going on behind them between the Starfleet vessels and the remaining Dominion battle cruisers. To his surprise he saw that two of the three Starfleet vessels that had initially attacked the _Hera_ and the _T’Kumbra_ must have had a change of heart, because they were now firing on the Dominion cruisers in an attempt to keep them from following the _Scarab_. He could identify them now: one was the _Defiant_ , a small but heavily armed fighter, the other was one of Starfleet’s large constitution class ships, the _Enterprise_. The third ship, obviously under the command of a more cautious or cowardly captain, was standing down, falling back rapidly.

They were almost there. Vulcan was so close. Kira had an almost serene look on her face. _We’ll make it_ , Garak thought, and suddenly he felt elated.

His exultation lasted exactly two heartbeats until a direct hit by one of the Dominion battle cruiser’s photon torpedoes impacted with the _Scarab_ exactly as it was entering Vulcan’s upper atmosphere. The _Scarab’s_ hull resonated with the loud shrieking and banging of tearing metal. She bucked wildly once, and then seemed to steady, only to suddenly spin completely out of control, sending every one of them sprawling to the ground.

 _We’re dead._ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bashir crashing into the wall behind him head first and with such force Garak was sure death must have been instantaneous. He saw Kira and Pavale being lifted into the air as the _Scarab’s_ inertial dampeners failed completely. He saw his station’s control panel suddenly coming toward him far too fast. Then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Vulcan, ShiKahr

Regaining consciousness happened gradually. The first thing Bashir noticed was how much his head hurt. No, he corrected himself only seconds later, his whole body hurt. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten wherever here might be. Slowly he tried making sense of his surroundings. Apparently he was in a bed. He could feel the mattress beneath him. Gingerly his fingers moved over the covers, smooth and soft to the touch. Yes, he was definitely lying in a bed.

Cautiously, almost afraid of what he might see, he opened his eyes, only to find himself greeted by darkness. That he definitely hadn’t expected. For a second he was afraid he might’ve gone blind, but after what felt like an eternity he could make out differences in the blackness around him as dark silhouettes slowly took shape and he realized he was lying in a darkened room, the only illumination coming from faint starlight falling through the room’s window to his side.

He was exhausted and tired, but also strangely uneasy without knowing exactly why. There seemed to be something missing, something worrying, but whenever he tried to concentrate, the headache and his exhaustion seemed to drive this elusive something even further away. For a while he simply lay there, not thinking, not doing anything but letting his mind come fully awake.

At last, however, his doctor’s instincts kicked in, automatically taking stock of his physical condition. He was weak, slightly hungry and probably dehydrated. His headache hadn’t gotten any better since waking up and, as he checked out his limbs and torso, moving them carefully and letting his hands wander over his body, he discovered the tell-tale signs of at least two operations that had been performed on him recently. So, he had been badly injured, he thought. That’s when the memory finally hit him.

Of course, he had been badly injured. The _Scarab!_ He remembered their flight to Vulcan and the subsequent battle, their frantic descent into Vulcan’s atmosphere and then that fatal last hit followed by blinding pain.

He remembered that he had crashed into something, maybe the wall or the bridge’s deck. _Not again,_ he thought, the memory of hitting the hangar deck’s flooring on station 375 a while back still vivid in his mind. This time, however, his encounter with the _Scarab’s_ ship structure must have been far worse.

His mind tried to come up with the exact sequence of events, but everything remained slightly blurry. Sudden fear caused his stomach to cramp, making his heart rate quicken. What had happened to the others? Where they here with him? Without being able to see clearly, he knew nonetheless that he was alone in the room. Why weren’t the others here, too? Were they dead? The possibility frightened him even more. Suddenly a soft warning tone filled the room. He looked around, saw the bio-monitors that were no doubt reacting to his mounting agitation by sounding a soft alarm. He struggled to sit up, but his arms gave out and he sank back against the pillow.

He heard the room’s door open, saw a shimmer of light falling in and a person’s silhouette. The room’s lightning slowly changed, increasing at a slow rate and finally he was able to see, to look around. As he had intuitively known, the room was empty, but that seemed irrelevant now as he watched a dark-skinned woman, a Vulcan, walk slowly up to his bed.

“Doctor Bashir, there is no need for alarm,” she said calmly as she stood at the side.

He didn’t know what to say, what to ask and suddenly he felt dizzy, everything turning even more blurry once again, just like his memories. He felt himself fall back into darkness.

***

The second time he woke he was still hungry, even thirstier than the last time, but at least his head hurt less. Cautiously he opened his eyes, this time to the sight of softly filtered sunlight that fell through a semi-transparent window, painting complex patterns on the coverings of his bed. He looked around and saw the same women standing nearby, studying a chart in her hand and obviously waiting for him to gather his bearings.

“Doctor Bashir,” she said, her tone as soothing as it had been the last time, “it is good to see you awake. Would you like something to drink?”

Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded and she came closer. “Please try to sit up,” she told him and though he wasn’t sure if he could manage, he tried and succeeded at raising himself onto his elbows. When that showed no adverse effects he pushed himself up further. Pressing a control switch the woman raised the bed’s head. “If you want you can lean back again,” she told him and he complied, grateful for the support.

Handing him a glass of water, she said, “I’m Healer T’Lara. I would like to ask you a few questions. Do you feel strong enough to answer them?”

He took a sip of the water, relishing the feeling of cold liquid soothing his parched throat. The healer looked at him, the faintest smile on her lips. She was a very tall woman, but despite her imposing height her whole demeanor projected warmth.

He nodded at her between sips, sure he could guess what her questions would be.

“Can you tell me your full name?” she asked.

_Checking for signs of amnesia,_ he thought. He considered telling her that everything was fine with his memory, but then thought better of it. He wouldn’t know, would he? No, it was better to comply. After all, what harm would it do?

“My name is Julian Subatoi Bashir,” he answered obediently.

She smiled at him encouragingly. “Very good, can you tell me the current stardate? Can you tell me how you got here?

“I don’t know the current one, but I can tell you the last one I remember and that was… 48953 I think. I arrived here on board the _Scarab_.” When he saw the slight frown appear on her face, he added, “The _Scarab’s_ a Dominion fighter.”

She nodded slowly and started to turn away.

“Wait,” he said. “Where are the others?”

Turning back toward him, she remained silent for a while as she studied him. The realization that she had to consider her answer filled him with dread.

“You are the sole survivor,” she finally said and, casting him a sympathetic look, she turned and left him alone.

***

Bashir spent the following two days, slowly getting his strength back. Doctor T’Lara visited him once a day, but most of the time he was left to his own devices. Every once in a while a nurse would stick his or her head in, politely inquiring if he needed something, but whenever he tried to question them about anything, they politely refused to answer. With nothing to do, nothing to occupy his mind, he had only his own thoughts and worries for company.

Without access to any specific information, he couldn’t help but turn to speculating what might have happened to him and the others. From there it was only a small step to trying to guess what would happen to him after his release from medical care. The devastating news of the others’ deaths had shocked him to his core. It felt as if he existed in some strange kind of limbo where little seemed real enough to concern him except two facts that chased each other in his mind: the others were dead and he was alive. He was alive, but his friends were dead. Once again he was alone, so very alone.

The stigma of a defector that had lost at least some of its bite in the past weeks came back to haunt him with full force, gaining additional weight when he discovered that under all the calm professionalism and politeness the medical staff displayed around him, a wealth of deep discontentment for Bashir’s actions was simmering.

Shortly after he had first woken up he had naively believed that the Vulcans would offer him protection, an assumption he had made on the simple premise that they’d allowed the _Scarab_ to enter Vulcan’s atmosphere instead of just blowing her out of their sky. On further thought though, it dawned on him that this line of reasoning was far too simplistic. He hadn’t thought about the amount of pressure the Vulcan government must be facing by the Federation. Therefore he was both relieved but also afraid when T’Lara announced that he would leave their care tomorrow to be transferred somewhere else.

***

The next day, two Vulcans came to collect him. They introduced themselves as affiliated with Vulcan’s Ministry of Security and escorted him out of the hospital. For the first time, Bashir had a chance to take a look at the city by more than just gazing out of the window. He knew he was in ShiKahr, one of Vulcan’s capital cities. At least that information had been given to him freely. He had always planned to visit Vulcan one day. Vulcan – the name alone conjured up so many images and ideas. As one of the founding members of the Federation, Vulcans had always been one of the most influential species. They were highly respected by almost every other member, even though for one reason or the other there had always been a certain tension in the relations between Earth and Vulcan.

Vulcan and Earth: it was an open secret within the Federation that these two had always been something like fire and water, as much attracted to one another as they were opposed by their differences.

Bashir took a deep breath that still left him feeling unsatisfied. During the last few days he had noticed that his physiology was slowly adapting to Vulcan’s higher gravity and thinner air. However, even the so far relatively short walk through and out of the medical center had left him slightly breathless. Due to the earliness of the morning, the temperatures hadn’t risen too far yet as the Vulcan sun was slowly climbing the sky on its way to the zenith. Bashir stopped and, seeing the questioning glances of his escort, he said apologetically, “Please give me a moment to catch my breath.”

They gave him his moment and he used it to further study his surroundings, taking in the exotic taste and smell of a desert world, the dry warmth of it, the red earth tones that here in the heart of ShiKahr were as dominant as he expected them to be in the wilderness, giving the city a rusty look, and combined with the typically elegant Vulcan architecture, leaving him with an impression of purity and warmth.

_These are people that know how to build, to fuse form and function into a cohesive and harmonious mix,_ he thought with admiration. He nodded at his escort, not wanting to overtax their patience, and they continued their walk, rounding the building where a small, private transportation terminal was situated.

The following shuttle ride took only a handful of minutes. Unfortunately, the passenger compartment had no windows. Bashir had hoped he could use the ride to orient himself in the city, gain a perspective on its expanse, but instead he had only two options: stare at the shuttle’s rather uninspiring walls, or stare at the impassive face of the Vulcan escort that had chosen to join him in the passenger compartment while his colleague was piloting the shuttle.

Although the shuttle wasn’t a prisoner transport, Bashir felt a mounting sense of unease. The fact that he couldn’t look outside, that he had no idea where they were going and that his escort steadfastly refused to give him even the slightest scrap of information made his situation appear like the sling of a noose that was slowly pulled tight around him. He took a series of long, slow breaths to calm his rising pulse and nerves.

When they arrived at their destination and stepped out of the shuttle, Bashir found himself in front of another large, rather non-descript looking building.

“Where are we?” he asked, not really expecting an answer but trying anyway.

“We’re in ShiKahr’s governmental district. This is the Ministry of Security,” one of his escorts told him.

Bashir felt tempted to congratulate him on the miracle of procuring this information and giving it to the lowly Human in his company, but then he thought better of it. Right now, sarcasm wouldn’t help him, even if he might feel slightly better after delivering it.

Upon entering the building they came into a large, high-ceilinged lobby with a discreetly tucked away counter in one corner and a majestic mobile of Vulcan and its tri-solar system dominating the hall as it seemingly floated above them, slowly rotating, presenting its suns and planets in all their diversity and beauty.

Bashir would have loved to watch the mobile for a while, but a hand at his elbow made it clear that sightseeing wasn’t an option. His escort briskly walked toward the counter, where they exchanged only a few words with the Vulcan behind it before they turned around again and this time headed toward a pair of lift-doors. Their journey took them four stories up and afterward it was only a trip through two more corridors until he found himself ushered into what looked like some sort of visitor quarters.

“Stay here. Someone will come for you shortly,” one of his escorts told him before the door closed.

Slowly Bashir let his eyes wander across the room. Turning toward the door, he checked it. Unsurprisingly it was locked. He hadn’t expected anything else. No one had told him that he was a prisoner, but it was clear that he wasn’t free to go where he pleased.

Exploring what he assumed would be his cell for the foreseeable future, he discovered that it actually consisted of two rooms and a small bath. The main room held a couch and a low table, both facing a large window that overlooked a part of ShiKahr. There was also a small desk with a computer terminal. He decided to check that out later. He couldn’t imagine that he would be granted free access to any means of communication, but it was at least worth a try. A second smaller room held only a bed and a small dresser. That room had no window.

As cells went, this one was almost luxurious, especially in comparison to his accommodations on Terok Nor. The comparison came easily to his mind. Then he cursed as the thought brought back other unwanted memories that quickly led from the holding cell he had occupied on Terok Nor to his tiny quarters on the _Dagger._ In an instant he felt himself drowning in those memories and the terrible feeling of loss that accompanied them and that had been his almost constant companion since he had woken up in the hospital.

Forcibly he pushed the memories aside and tried to focus on his present surroundings and nothing else. He liked its furnishings. They were simple but elegant, giving the room an atmosphere that pleased the eye as well as his sense of aesthetics. He wondered how long it would take before these pleasant surroundings would drive him nuts. He also wondered how long it would take until someone showed up. He had just decided to give that computer terminal a closer inspection after all, when a soft chime filled the room and a couple of seconds later the door to the corridor opened.

_I have decidedly polite jailers_ , Bashir thought with grim amusement. It was so quintessentially Vulcan to announce one’s presence even before entering a cell, showing a de facto prisoner the courtesy of not barging in upon him without any forewarning. He turned as the door swished open.

In the open doorway stood a Vulcan woman. Delicately built and as dark-skinned as the healer T’Lara, she reminded him of a sylph, a shadow-sylph, that looked at him intently, scrutinizing him from head to toe. There was something about her, an air of authority that made him straighten up immediately. He wondered if he would pass her assessment favorably.

“Doctor Bashir, I am Secretary T’Pel. Please come with me,” she said, her voice impassive, not giving away any clues what she thought of him. Without waiting for a reply, she turned and vanished along the corridor.

Bashir hurried after her and once outside in the corridor he saw her standing only a few steps away from the open door to his rooms. He also noticed one of his escorts standing just outside, giving him a stoic look.

Bashir followed the secretary as she walked to the end of the corridor. She opened another door there that led to a large room, its features immediately making its purpose clear.

The room was practically bare. No adornments, no furnishings were present apart from a table large enough to allow two persons to sit on either side, two chairs standing neatly on each side.

On the table stood a carafe of water and two glasses. A PADD lay beside them. T’Pel walked to one side of the table and motioned him to sit down on the other. She spent a while checking the PADD. Without looking up at him she said, “Please begin.”

Bashir was confused. Normally he had no problem with people wasting few words. He certainly had a lot of practice dealing with that sort of behavior since he had woken up in the hospital. Vulcans really had a knack for saying as much as possible with as few words as possible. T’Pel’s prompt, however, was so vague, he didn’t know where to begin. He had no idea what he could safely tell her and what she wanted to hear from him. He had no inclination of betraying any confidences, and that left him feeling tongue-tied.

When the silence between them lengthened the, secretary finally looked up at him, giving him a questioning look. Then she nodded in apparent approval. “Very well, this is the information I’m willing to give you in advance. As I said, I’m Secretary T’Pel, I’m also a member of the V’Shar and I’m the personal aide of Minister Satok, the head of the V’Shar. You can safely assume that I know everything you and your companions had planned. However, I need your personal account to determine our best strategy in dealing with the Federation and Starfleet. They are… how does the Human saying go?” She paused. “Ah, yes, they are clamoring for your blood,” she said at last, the corners of her mouth drooping in obvious distaste at her own choice of words.

He could very well imagine just how furious the top brass of Starfleet must be right now. Oh yes, he could imagine it far too well for his own liking. In a sudden flash he saw himself rotting in a cell of one of the Federation’s penal colonies, locked away for the rest of his life. Or maybe they would simply hand him over to the Dominion. That image made him shudder violently.

“There’s no need to panic,” T’Pel said sharply, interrupting his train of thought. “So far the Vulcan government has denied all requests for extradition made by the Federation _and_ the Dominion, but if you want to keep it that way, it would be wise to start with your account.”

Bashir looked at her searchingly. He wanted to find some kind of reassurance in her eyes, a sign that he could trust her. She stared back at him impassively. In the end he realized, he really hadn’t any choice in this matter. With the others dead he had absolutely no alternative but to hope that the V’Shar would protect him. Yet there was one important question he had to ask first.

“Will you tell me what happened to the _Scarab_? What happened to my friends?” he asked. At her affirmative he finally gave in and started telling his story.

***

Earth, San Francisco

Sitting in front of the closed doors leading to Admiral Ross’ office at Starfleet HQ, former Director Sloan couldn’t remember if he had ever been as angry as he was now. He had been recalled from Bajor to report back to Admiral Ross. He would have to justify himself and his actions during the recent disaster on Bajor - the near loss of Starfleet’s new HQ on Bajor in an attack by a terrorist faction of the Alliance. Losing his position as Head of Planetary Security had been indignation enough, but being recalled to Earth like a school boy who had to report to the Headmaster’s office? That was simply too much.

He had been on his way from Bajor to Earth when he had heard the news. It seemed as if those terrorists he had dealt with on Bajor had far more widespread connections and plans than he would have believed possible. But then he would never have suspected his aide Powell to be in league with them and yet the young lieutenant clearly had been.

The latest events were even more alarming than anything that had happened on Bajor. There had been an ambush - its exact nature mostly unclear - in the direct vicinity of the wormhole. Three Starfleet vessels had been involved in it as well as the same small Dominion fighter that had played a significant role during the attack on Bajor. There had been fighting between those ships and an unknown number of Dominion vessels and at least one ship had been destroyed.

At the time Sloan had desperately tried to reach someone who could tell him more, but he had been stonewalled by every of his contacts. He could only assume that the situation was deemed so serious that Starfleet was heavily censoring everything. He had been affronted that the censoring obviously included him. The realization did nothing to alleviate his bad temper. With the attack on Starfleet’s HQ on Bajor, this whole terrorist business had turned from an interesting though minor nuisance to something far more personal for him. Having re-evaluated the situation, he had come to the conclusion that those terrorists were a serious threat to the Federation, a threat that needed to be dealt with, swiftly and decisively.

He stared at the door to Ross’ inner sanctum. The Admiral had left him waiting for almost an hour now. Sloan took it as a rather petty form of punishment, but then Admiral Ross had always displayed a certain amount of small-mindedness. Sloan would have liked to react by simply leaving. He considered under which circumstances he would be able to do just that and get away with it; not the current ones, he decided with regret.

Finally the door to the Admiral’s inner office opened. Ross appeared in the open doorway. Without so much as looking at Sloan, or giving him a single word of greeting, Ross waved him inside and vanished back into the depths of his office. Something was clearly up for Ross to behave so oddly. For a split-second Sloan considered a trap, but what would be the point? Slowly he rose to his feet. Ross reappeared in the door, this time angrily snapping his fingers at Sloan, then raising a finger to his lips before he banished inside again.

Sloan’s curiosity took over. _Not an ambush_ , he thought, _but the need for a witness obviously_. He followed Ross into the office, stopping just inside, allowing the door to swish closed behind him. He watched as Ross returned to his desk, behind which a large screen showed an open transmission channel put on hold, displaying just the Federation logo at the moment. As Sloan had already guessed, Ross was talking to someone and he wanted Sloan to listen in on it.

Re-opening the channel, Ross said “Please excuse the interruption, Councilor,” Ross said. “Where were we?”

The councilor grimaced. Sloan recognized the man instantly, though he couldn’t place a name to the face. He was one of a group of delegates of the Federation Council specifically assigned to function as a liaison office to the Dominion, a weasel-like man, slim and grey, with nervous eyes that seemed incapable of focusing on anything for long. He was obviously annoyed about the delay in their communication. “As I said, we consider the attack on the wormhole as a top priority. The fact that no less than three Starfleet ships were in on it troubles us greatly. We want you to send an investigator to Vulcan. I’m sure you’ll agree with our assessment that we can’t allow the Vulcans, founding member of the Federation or not, to play games with us,” the councilor said.

“You can say many things about the Vulcans, but they are certainly not prone to playing games,” Ross answered.

A new voice cut in. “That’s irrelevant. What isn’t, however, is the fact that regardless of your declarations to the contrary, it seems that the Federation is slowly sliding into chaos.”

That voice, Sloan recognized instantly. Meant to be charming and suave, it completely failed to achieve that. Instead it sounded mostly ingratiating and slightly oily, just like its owner. As the view on the screen automatically widened to capture the new speaker, Sloan saw the face of Weyoun appear on the screen.

Ross scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. You’re blowing this latest incident completely out of proportion,” he answered vehemently, his annoyance at the Vorta’s comment obvious. Sloan suspected that up to this point Ross hadn’t been aware that the Vorta was even present.

“Oh?” Weyoun replied. “There’ve been not one but several defectors in critical positions, you have your HQ on Bajor run over by terrorists, you have Starfleet vessels committing mutiny and lastly you have an essential member of the Federation openly threatening withdrawal. What exactly do you think I’m blowing out of proportion?” The Vorta’s voice had turned uncharacteristically icy at his inventory.

There was a moment of dead silence, but before Admiral Ross could react to that litany of accusations, the Vorta spoke up again.

“Admiral, consider this a friendly warning, but the Founders are rapidly losing their patience. I strongly advise you to take decisive action. You have to bring those mutineers to justice and you have to get Vulcan back in line.” A slight pause, then the voice continued and now it turned hard and gritty. “Concerning that Alliance terrorist group, we expect you to hand any of its surviving members over to us. The Vulcans claim that there’s only one, but that claim needs to be validated. However many of them are still alive, they have committed heinous crimes against the Dominion and have undoubtedly planned more. It will be an act of good faith to hand them over to us.” He paused, then added, “Believe me. It only would be in your own best interest.”

While the councilor had been silent during the last part of their conversation, he apparently thought it high time to reassert himself now. “I understand that your demands are only an expression for your genuine concern, Weyoun,” he said diplomatically, “but let me express my concern about these latest statements you made. I’m sure you’ll understand that the Federation cannot tolerate any interference in its internal affairs, regardless of how well meaning the underlying intentions of such interference may be.” He smiled nervously at Weyoun, then looked at Ross as if asking for support. When none was immediately forthcoming, he continued, “That is why we have agreed on a joint investigation, after all.” He smiled again, adding hastily, “I think we have concluded our business. Admiral Ross, I expect regular reports from you.”

The transmission was cut rather abruptly, the councilor obviously keen on ending the communication without giving anyone the opportunity to raise further objections.

Sloan slowly walked over to the Admiral’s desk and slid into one of the visitor chairs. “What a happy little chat,” he commented drily.

The admiral snorted rudely. “You have no idea. Before I called you in that conversation had been going on for over an hour, again and again circling around the same topics. The most annoying thing, however, is that Vorta. How many times has he bit the dust so far? Twice just in the last couple of weeks, right? But look, what a happy surprise, another one of them pops up.” He grimaced.

“It makes one hope we’d reach the end of that production line soon, doesn’t it?” Sloan replied sympathetically. “I regret that incidents lying clearly out of my sphere of influence have aggravated our problems with the Dominion,” he continued. He’d decided to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and not wait until Ross would voice any accusations against him. No, far better to take the initiative. His statement wasn’t completely true, of course. The treason of his aide Powell had clearly been his responsibility. After all, it had been Sloan who had recruited the young lieutenant as his aide. Sloan just hoped that with the ongoing terrorist threat, Ross simply wouldn’t have the time and necessary resources to carry on without Sloan.

Ross stared at him silently, his brows furrowed as if in deep thought. “Understand this, Sloan. It’s your last chance. One more failure and you’ll face the full consequences,” he said at last.

Sloan suppressed a tired groan. As if the Admiral could act against him like that. Should he, Sloan, fall, he would make sure the Admiral fell with him. He had collected enough dirt on Ross to make certain Ross wouldn’t have a chance to get his ass out of the sling either. He wouldn’t say anything, of course. He and Ross had never talked about such things; true professionals never did.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked instead.

“Go to Vulcan. This whole mess with the crews of the _Hera,_ the _T’Kumbra_ and the _Intrepid_ needs to be cleared up quickly. That defector – there I think decisive action is required,” Ross said. He picked up a PADD and held it out to Sloan. “Take this. You’ll find all the necessary information on this situation compiled on here.”

“I take it by decisive action you mean terminal?” Sloan asked, taking the PADD.

Ross shook his head. “Not necessarily. The Starfleet crews I want to see here in HQ. We need to discover how far up in the Vulcan government the terrorists’ connections go. As to that defector, I leave that matter to your discretion. I don’t think it would be in our best interest to see him, as well as any other surviving members of that terrorist cell, handed over to the Dominion. If you see no other feasible alternative, do what you must, but try to refrain from any unnecessary bloodshed. This is Vulcan, after all, not Bajor.”

Sloan nodded, ignoring the last comment as another petty jibe not worth an answer.

“Good. Let’s move on then and take a look at another issue,” Ross said, pointing at the PADD. “If you take a look at this, it contains a detailed analysis of our current progress in securing the most strategic sectors in the Alpha Quadrant. At present we’re in negotiations with the Dominion regarding a whole series of security arrangements concerning those sectors.”

For a while they worked, setting aside the regional problem on and with Vulcan in favor of the much larger picture. The planet never completely vanished from Sloan’s mind, though. Like a blood-hound that had been set on its trail, Sloan wouldn’t let go of it until he had dealt with those terrorists – one way or the other.


	5. Chapter 5

Vulcan, ShiKahr

Three days had gone by since Bashir’s first interview with T’Pel, and that first interview soon had turned into a long and tiring series only interrupted by meal-breaks and far too short nights. He had quickly come to trust T’Pel. She had kept her own promise, telling him everything he wanted to know about the crash of the _Scarab_ and what had happened afterwards. It wasn’t a consolidation to finally learn what had happened, but he hoped it would at least allow him to grieve and move on eventually.

The interviews had a strange effect on him. Maybe it was because this was the first time he had the opportunity of telling his story. It made him realize just how deeply he had managed to entangle himself in the middle of not only one Quadrant-spanning war between the Alliance and the Federation but also the internal quarreling between Vulcan and the Federation. Above everything else his account left him feeling intensely isolated while he told her of his flight from Earth, his arrival on Terok Nor and his time on the _Dagger_.

Another effect of telling his story like this was that it left him questioning his own motives and actions of the past weeks. Being the narrator required him to make sense of his actions, forcing him to explain and reason. Even though T’Pel never criticized and rarely commented his actions, Bashir couldn’t help but wonder how and when exactly during the past weeks he had stopped being a doctor and had become – what? A freedom fighter? A terrorist? When had these terms become so muddled in his mind?

***

Sitting at his room’s desk Bashir was looking at news reports of the on-going Federation and Dominion campaign throughout the Alpha Quadrant. While he had no access to any communication channels, T’Pel had informed him that he was allowed to watch any public Vulcan newsfeed he wished.

He had taken to it like a starving man to a meal. On Terok Nor and later on board of the _Dagger_ his opportunities of learning what was going on around him had been severely limited. Now he practically craved to learn more and discover what he had missed.

Naturally the local newsfeeds gave the internal conflict between Vulcan and the Federation a large focus. Bashir discovered that their failed attempt to gain access to the wormhole and make it through to the Gamma Quadrant was portrayed as a plot to just destroy that wormhole. It was unclear if the Federation truly believed that or if it was a cover story for the public.

Unsurprisingly the involvement of three Starfleet vessels, three Starfleet vessels manned almost exclusively by Vulcans caused a quite a stir. Somehow the main consensus was that those had been the main instigators while the presence of a stolen Dominion fighter, crewed by a rag-tag team of Alliance rebels was downplayed considerably.

The _Scarab_ and the _Intrepid_ played almost no role in the news. Most newsfeeds simply stated that a stolen Dominion attack vessel had been destroyed as it attempted to enter Vulcan’s atmosphere. The _Intrepid’s_ destruction was portrayed as an accident, the result of friendly fire during the battle that had played out around Vulcan.

The focus rested mainly on the surviving two ships and their captains. Opinions how to judge their actions varied wildly. There were those who regarded their actions as mutiny and some of those even went as far as to ask for the re-instatement of the death penalty in these cases, at least for the commanding officers. Others were more lenient in their judgment, trying to understand what might have motivated those ships’ crews to act the way they had done, however misguided those actions were. There even were a few voices that openly advocated their actions, declaring them heroes and defenders of a better time and morale.

The newsfeeds puzzled Bashir. Their presentation of some very important details of the whole incident was wildly contradictory - a fact that couldn’t be attributed to ignorance of the resistances plans alone. He felt sure that here was censorship at work or at the very least a very direct form of misinformation, but at the same time it felt sloppily executed. There were so many gaping holes in these reports it didn’t take much to see them.

In a strange way the incompetence he thought he saw was almost a relief. He wasn’t used to seeing that kind of thing in Federation media. It angered him as it called some of his most preciously held beliefs about the Federation into question. _At least they’re not particularly good at it_ , he thought.

The door-chime sounded, interrupting his last, unpleasant train of thought. Looking up drom the computer-terminal he expected to see T’Pel or one of her colleagues standing in the doorway. Strangely enough nothing happened. His door remained stubbornly closed. Bashir gave it an impatient look, wondering if someone wanted to play games with him. Then he remembered where he was. Vulcans playing games? It was highly unlikely.

He got up, walked to the door, and palmed it open. The sight that greeted him was a more than pleasant surprise.

“Silva!” he exclaimed in delight. He stared at the captain of the _Hera_ , startled by the abruptness of her appearance at his door. Taking a step back, he ushered her in, following her into the room when she stepped in. She turned and the next instant he found himself enclosed in a tight embrace. The gesture was unexpected. Sure, he had known Silva La Forge for years, but they had never been _that_ close. He hesitated, but only for a second before giving in and returning her embrace wholeheartedly, cherishing the feeling of warmth and connection to another Human being.

Finally letting go, Silva took a small step back, giving him a searching look. “Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” he replied quietly, taking in her appearance. Regardless of their circumstances, she looked outright marvelous as she stood in front of him. He noticed with interest that she was still wearing her Starfleet uniform. She smiled at him, looking almost carefree for a second, before her features took on a look of determination. Standing in the middle of his room, she seemed perfectly at ease, her whole body posture speaking of someone who might not be in full control of her current situation, but who was content to wait for the first opportunity to regain it. She reminded him a lot of T’Pel he realized suddenly, or maybe it was the other way around. T’Pel had reminded him of Silva. Maybe that had been another reason why it had felt so easy to trust the Vulcan.

“It’s been too long. You look good, Julian,” Silva said. “Well, you look tired, but at least you appear to be whole, and that’s more than I would have expected after seeing that little ship of yours taking a tumbling dive into Vulcan’s atmosphere,” she amended.

Bashir bit his lower lip, unsure how to reply.

His hesitance spurred Silva into action. “Oh Julian, however have you gotten yourself involved in this mess?” Silva asked, the words coming out in a rush, her voice rising in exasperation. As if to emphasize her words, she reached out and grabbed his arm tightly.

“That’s a strange question, don’t you think? Clearly we’ve been in this together, so I could ask you the same,” Julian answered.

She shook her head ruefully and let go of his arm.

“Why don’t we sit down?” he asked her, then another thought crossed his mind. “Can you stay for a while? I mean, are you allowed to stay? I’m so glad to see a familiar and friendly face. It’s been a while, you know.”

She nodded, and they went over to the small couch and sat down. There were so many questions whirling in his mind, he felt almost overwhelmed by it.

“So tell me, Silva. What on Earth made you join this madness?” he asked her at last.

That question drew an ironic smirk from her. “Captain’s privilege, I made a command decision,” she answered. “And what excuse do you have?” she asked in return.

“Well, I made a moral and professional one, and that’s as much a doctor’s privilege as it is the privilege of anyone who has a consciousness of their own,” he said. While she obviously wanted to keep this discussion light, he simply couldn’t accommodate her. This was just too important for him.

He saw Silva’s expression turn grim. With a small nod, she conceded his point. “And now we’re going to face the consequences of our actions, though from what I hear the Federation has quite different plans for us.”

“What do you mean?” Julian asked.

“The _Hera’s_ and _T’Kumbra’s_ officers will face the charges made against them in a court-martial. We’ll be transferred to Starfleet HQ here in ShiKahr first before they’ll send us back to Earth. I expect we’ll be leaving soon, actually. You, however, for some reason I haven’t been able to discern, won’t join us.”

Bashir was puzzled. “Do you know why?”

“Don’t you?” she asked back.

He shook his head. Of course he knew why, but he also knew that he couldn’t tell, regardless how much he wanted to confide in his friend. Even though the _Intrepid_ , _T’Kumbra_ and _Hera_ had been crucial to their plans, their captains hadn’t been entrusted with the _Dagger’s_ ultimate objective. Their ignorance was necessary as much to protect themselves as everyone else.

“That’s strange,” Silva said in response to his lie. “All I know is that so far the Vulcan government has blocked all demands made by the Federation’s representatives to hand you over to them.”

“That’s _really_ strange,” he answered with a frown. “Whenever I asked what will happen to me, I was only told that nothing was decided so far.” He shook his head again as if puzzled and, looking over at the window, avoided her gaze. He felt her hand on his wrist, a comforting gesture and looked back at her with a smile. It felt good to see her concern, even though her open sympathy made it hard to keep up his composure. “Anyway, I’m so pleased to see you. When I heard that the _Hera_ would be part of our escort, I was so worried for you,” he said.

“Ha! And how do you think I felt when I heard that you had been snatched up by a band of Alliance terrorists after running away from that medical-research center you’d been holed up in?” Silva shot back at him.

He chuckled and was almost as surprised as Silva by the amount of bitterness present in his voice when he said, “You make it very much sound like I’ve just been a victim of circumstance, as if I had no other options but to join them. As much as it might surprise you, I joined them willingly.” He looked at her defiantly.

“And that includes, attacking Starfleet installations, like that HQ on Bajor?” she asked.

“Yes! We had to! They held one of our own, and they had data we needed,” he answered fervently.

“Do you have any idea how much Starfleet personnel got killed in that attack?” she asked, her voice growing deadly quiet.

It felt like she had slapped him. For a second he just sat speechless, staring at her as she continued, not really listening to what she said. This whole topic was such a can of worms and he had struggled with it all the time. It had taken effort on his part to accept Kira’s and Garak’s reasoning behind their actions. Some of it still caused him to cringe inwardly, like their plans for the Founders. With most of it he had made his peace, however.

Now, Silva had stripped him of that hardly one peace, and the ease with which she had managed that didn’t bode well. He hadn’t expected that. He certainly hadn’t expected that kind of criticism from her. After all, it had been the _Hera_ , Silva’s own ship that had fired on the _Intrepid_ , even if her torpedoes had only aimed to cripple the _Intrepid’s_ warp drive. Most importantly he hadn’t expected it from a friend, and so she had caught him with his guard down. It almost sounded as if she was accusing him of consorting with the enemy. The thought caused another wave of bitterness to flood through him, because even if he had, they were all dead now, had left him behind stranded on yet another alien world.

Had he gone too far when he had sided with them? But how could you take action against the Dominion and not hit the Federation as well? Since the first Pact of Nonaggression between the Dominion and the Federation had been formed almost six years ago, their entanglement had grown steadily and in spite of a Federation policy that had always fiercely proclaimed and defended the Federation’s independence. There was also that nagging suspicion that Kira had voiced during their very first strategy meeting on board of the _Dagger_. She had stated that the Federation was using the Dominion’s incursion into the Alpha Quadrant as a means to consolidate its own power. At first the idea had simply horrified him, probably almost as much as the idea of committing an act of genocide against the Founders had horrified him. The latter still made him cringe inwardly now, but the idea that at least some influential parties, some of those who held the power within the Federation might take the chance the Dominion’s presence offered didn’t seem so inconceivable to him as it had been when hearing it for the first time.

“Julian?” Silva’s voice slowly filtered in. “Julian? Are you all right?”

He studied the woman in front of him and for a second it felt like he was looking at a total stranger. He blinked repeatedly as if that would help to clear away his disturbing change of perspective. “I wish there was a way to resolve this without any loss of life, regardless on which side,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry Julian. That was unfair. I can only guess at what you must have gone through with these people. It must have been such a struggle to find yourself in league with those people. I mean I appreciate their goals, but I know I would have a hard time getting along with Romulans or Cardassians.” She paused. After a moment she asked delicately, “Are you all right, Julian? I mean really?”

At first he didn’t understand what she was getting at. Then understanding dawned. “What? Are you kidding? What do you think might have happened to me?” he snapped at her. For a second he wondered just how much information about him Silva might have gotten from the V’Shar, but he rejected the idea almost immediately. It was highly unlikely that Silva had gotten anything. As she was about to be handed over to Starfleet giving her any pertinent information about him would be stupid even if their ultimate plan had failed. He saw her eyes widen at his vehemence and he amended more calmly, “No Silva, really, I’m fine. It wasn’t at all like that. I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine, because they are all dead, all but me.” He tried giving her a reassuring smile, but knew from her reaction that he failed miserably.

She nodded, but he could see in her eyes that another rift had opened between them. Only minutes ago he had been so pleased and so relieved to see her. During his days at Starfleet Academy she had fast become his most important mentors. He had always cared for her opinion, had held it in the highest regard. Now it seemed that fate had led him to a place she couldn’t follow. They seemed as far apart as two people could get.

He wondered if it had been his own fault. Had he really changed that much? Had it been his views that had changed that dramatically? He couldn’t believe it; he didn’t want to believe it. _No_ , he thought, _it’s not a question of fault, but it’s like I’ve taken a step outside of the bubble and now I’m no longer able to slip in again_.

Regardless of their differences the rest of Silva’s visit went pleasantly enough. By unspoken agreement neither of them brought up any topic that might set them at odds again. Instead they exchanged news about some of their mutual friends and acquaintances. The only sign that not everything was well was the slight awkwardness, the slightly false tone in their conversation that stayed with them until Silva finally left.

***

Sloan had never been to Vulcan before. His responsibilities had never led him here and his own interest in either the planet or its people had been moderate at best. He had beamed down into the city of ShiKahr early in the morning, but instead of directly walking to the Ministry of Security where he was expected, he had spent the morning in seeming idleness, walking along streets and plazas, taking in the atmosphere of the city and its people, perusing the offers of some shops, visiting a small restaurant to get an early midday meal. He wanted to get a feel for this planet and its people.

He had studied all the reports and studies available that analyzed the current situation: those that aimed at putting the tensions between Vulcan and the Federation into a historical context, those that chose a more psychological approach as well as those which tried to break it all down to economic factors. Each of those studies had their own merit. They were indispensable to his work, but at the end of the day he preferred to gain some first-hand and personal insight into the situation at hand.

On any other planet he would’ve expected a certain amount of nervous tension. The threat of secession made by the Vulcan government and the counter-threat of blockading the planet made by the Federation Council both hanging in the air should’ve provoked a whole series of reactions among the Vulcan population. On any other planet he would’ve known what to expect: the open aggression, people being scared, people criticizing their government for doing it all wrong, the warnings made by leaders to the public to stay calm, and last but not least there were always those who tried to make a profit, those who tried to play both sides in the hopes of coming out on top.

Vulcan reacted differently. At first sight everything seemed almost too quiet. He had looked for the usual signs but discovered none. He had talked to a few people, but learned nothing of real interest. He suspected it might be himself, his own presence that was getting in the way of his observations. He was after all a Human and as such easily recognizable. While he had exchanged his trademark black leather with clothes more suitable for Vulcan’s hot and dry climate, he had decided against trying to emulate the Vulcan style of clothing, but had went for a light suit cut in the latest fashion popular on Earth. It was still black though. His willingness to make concessions to the Vulcan sun had its limits.

After having learned nothing of particular interest for most of the morning, he decided to change his strategy. Maybe a more private setting, a more personal approach would be the solution. Inquiries with a street vendor selling refreshments soon led him to a restaurant that according to the vendor was a popular place for employees working in the inner city to spend their lunchtime.

The place was already packed when he walked inside. Located on the ground-floor of one of the inner city’s administrative buildings, the restaurant was small, but even though it was practically brimming with customers the atmosphere inside was one of cool and collected elegance. _You can’t help but admire them for their poise_ , Sloan thought, _even if they are bloody-minded hypocrites in every other respect._ Having inquired about his preferences, a host politely guided him to a table that was already occupied by three Vulcan’s, leaving only one chair free. For Sloan it was a perfect setting.

Polite introductions were made. Sloan introduced himself as a businessman, dealing in precious minerals. His three lunch-companions turned out to be a lower function governmental aide, a librarian and a biomedical researcher. It didn’t take long for Sloan to strike up a polite conversation, choosing topics that were both interesting and mostly harmless. When a lull set in, he decided it might be the right time to get to the subject that really interested him.

With a sigh he lowered his knife and fork, schooling his features into a semblance of slight concern and regret. “I have to say. It’s quite some time since I’ve had such an agreeable, not to say stimulating conversation.” He looked around the table, briefly capturing the gaze of each of his lunch companion’s. “I only wish our governments were able to show the same amount of common sense as we do. It would be better for all of us. Don’t you agree?”

There was a long moment of cautious silence. Finally the researcher, a middle-aged Vulcan woman, spoke up. “Peaceful relations are always preferable,” she said. “Yet, what constitutes common sense? That is a field wide open to discussion.” She looked at him seriously. Though her remark had been so carefully phrased, he could see that her interest was piqued.

“Well, I’m not an overly political animal,” Sloan replied with a smile. “Most of the times, I’m content with minding my own business, but this whole secession issue has me truly worried. I mean, we’ve lived together for so long. True there’ve been some rough patches here and there, but that’s normal even in the healthiest of relationships.” He let his voice rise toward the end, putting a bit of passion into it.

Again it was the researcher who replied first. “I share your worries. However, it’s certainly a situation that has many facets. Frankly I’m not sure if calling this conflict as a ‘rough patch’ adequately describes the severity of the current conflict,” she said in a tone straight out of the lecture hall.

Inwardly Sloan wanted to groan. Could this woman be any more cautious? He looked at their other two lunch companions. It was high time to goad them into this conversation, too. Addressing them directly, he asked, “And what do you think? Would it be for the best if Vulcan and the Federation went their separate ways?”

Both men remained silent for a long moment. “I think it best if Vulcan withdraws from the Federation,” the librarian finally said.

Sloan’s first impression of the man had been less than favorable. His almost white, wispy hair and the wizened face spoke of the man’s advanced age as much as his slightly hunched posture. So far he had been the quietest of the three and some of his comments had led Sloan to believe that the Vulcan was probably suffering from some form of age related dementia.

Sloan had no idea if Vulcans were prone to such a disease, but it seemed more than likely considering their long life-spans. Now, however, taking in the sharp gaze the old Vulcan was directing at him, Sloan realized that he might have been misled purposefully. He gave the old man a questioning look.

The librarian sighed, his gaze quickly flickering to the other two Vulcans as if he wanted to assure their support, before he looked back at Sloan. “I am a librarian,” he said. “In a way I am a steward of knowledge – the knowledge of our own people as well as the knowledge and wisdom of other worlds and species.” He paused and stared down at his almost empty plate as if he needed to gather his thoughts.

Sloan wondered what the old man was getting at. He felt wary that this opening might be just the beginning of a long-winded and unnecessarily convoluted justification why Vulcan should secede from the Federation. Therefore he was more than surprised by the Vulcan’s next words.

“Don’t worry, young man. I won’t bore you with a lengthy tale,” the librarian continued, still looking down at his half-eaten lunch. Then he straightened, giving Sloan another sharp look. “Over the years I have developed a certain… penchant for your species’ love for tales and fables. Fictional and irrational as they might be, they tell so much about you, far more than you might realize yourself.” The slightest hint of a smile played around the old man’s lips. “If one wants to apply one of these cultural and narrative motifs to the current situation one immediately comes to mind, don’t you think?” he asked.

Sloan still had no idea where the librarian was heading for. He looked at the other two Vulcans, but their expressions showed nothing but polite interest for their elder’s words.

“Which motif?” Sloan asked.

“Making a deal with the devil, of course,” the librarian answered.

Suddenly Sloan could see it quite clearly, the underlying smugness fuelled by that unique sense of Vulcan superiority. It was this sense of superiority that had strained the relationship between Vulcans and Humans once and again ever since their species had first met. Suddenly all he wanted was to get out of this fruitless conversation.

“Oh, please,” he answered, “I’m so tired of hearing that cliché repeated over and over. I certainly would have expected more from a Vulcan than just parroting the Alliance’s propaganda.” Against his will, he felt himself getting angry. “The Dominion is many things – a considerable power, an ally, a source of new, economic and cultural impulses, but it’s most certainly not the devil,” he stated vehemently, giving in to his anger.

The old Vulcan just sat there and stared at him for a while. Then he slowly shook his head, his mild expression slowly turning grim. “When I spoke of a deal with the devil I wasn’t talking about the Federation and the Dominion. I was talking about Vulcan and the Federation.”

***

It was already early afternoon when Sloan finally arrived at the Ministry of Security. After his lunch, he had spent some time in one of ShiKahr’s many parks. The old Vulcan’s words and his condemning judgment of the Federation had affected Sloan more than he would have expected. He knew that the accusation was preposterous, but if the Vulcan’s words represented not just a sole opinion but a larger trend among the population – and Sloan slowly came to believe that they might – then it would be more than foolish to ignore those words or take them lightly.

He walked inside the ministry building and after a quickly orientating himself inside the large lobby, he went over to the counter and announced himself. The receptionist asked him politely to wait for a moment until someone would come to collect him.

Sloan spent the time he had to wait studying the large piece of art that dominated the hall. Staring up at it as it floated over his head, he wondered what it might tell him about its makers. He was sure that looking at the way a species choose to represent itself and its home planet might tell him at least as much about them as any speech, and so he took his time to let the impression sink in. It was a realistic depiction - no surprise there. Going experimental wasn’t something one expected of Vulcan art, especially in a governmental building.

After a while he came to the conclusion that he found the whole ensemble mostly boring and in a way rather unimaginative. It was just the Vulcan solar system. Suddenly disgusted he turned to the counter again. He had enough of studying Vulcan’s psyche. He was about to inquire how much longer it would take before someone showed up, when he saw a man coming toward him.

“Welcome to Vulcan, Director Sloan,” the man said as he was still a few paces away, his dark voice easily occupying the whole lobby. Sloan gave the man a level stare, taking in the air of impeccability, the elegant grey suit, the straight, yet casual posture, and the very slight smile, the latter being most certainly a consciously made concession and carefully used means to make his interactions with a Human run more smoothly.

“I am Minister Satok,” the Vulcan continued once he’d stopped in front of Sloan. He slightly tilted his head, but gave no indication of even noticing Sloan’s lack of reaction so far.

Sloan allowed another silence to grow between them before he replied at last. “Thank you,” he said. Then he gave the man a wide and toothy smile, going even so far as to stretch out his hand, offering a handshake, deciding that if the Vulcan wanted to play Human with him, he would offer him the full dose.

The minister hesitated only for the fraction of a second, before grasping his hand, obviously resigning himself to the gesture. The slight smile however was gone now, and Sloan could have sworn he saw the slightest hint of discomfort in the Vulcan’s eyes.

“Shall we?” the minister asked, gesturing toward the still open doors at the farther end of the lobby. At Sloan’s nod they made their way to the elevator. As it turned out it was a short trip up to the top-level and an equally short walk through a rather non-descript corridor until they arrived in what was obviously the minister’s office.

Here a surprise waited for Sloan. Upon entering he saw that someone else was already present. It was undoubtedly the Dominion’s special investigator that Weyoun had spoken of during his conversation with Admiral Ross and the Federation’s council-member. Sloan had expected to have the opportunity to talk alone to the minister, had in fact counted on it to some extent. He had lost that chance during lunch as the Dominion’s so called special investigator had obviously arrived on Vulcan before him and hadn’t wasted time with other trivialities before coming here.

The man had been standing in front of one of the large window that gave the minister’s office an even more spacious atmosphere by presenting a breathtaking view over ShiKahr’s cityscape. At hearing them entering he turned around.

Sloan recognized the face immediately and the realization who the Dominion had sent here came as a shock. Sloan had expected a Vorta, possibly even Weyoun himself. He certainly hadn’t expected to see a Founder, and not just any Founder, but one that he knew – one that was known to almost everyone in the Alpha Quadrant. This Founder had played a significant role when the Cardassians had made first contact with the Dominion. He had vanished shortly before the Cardassians had managed to collapse their wormhole and he had reappeared with a whole fleet of Dominion ships in his wake when the Founders had somehow managed to establish a new wormhole – this one practically in direct neighborhood to Earth.

The minister who had preceded Sloan into his office walked toward the Founder and, taking over the introductions he said, “Director Sloan, this is the Dominion’s envoy, Mr. Odo Ital.”

Sloan exchanged a polite nod with the Founder. Sloan hadn’t met him in person before, but he had seen recordings and he had, of course, studied the Founder’s rather extensive file that Starfleet Intelligence had compiled about him. He had been one of many the Founders had sent out as infants to acquire knowledge before returning back to the Gamma Quadrant to share it with their people. He had been found by the Cardassians, who’d first brought him to Bajor, allowing the Bajorans to experiment on him. Later when his sentience became obvious he had been transferred back to Cardassia where he had been first interrogated, then kept around as something like a pet before he had been put to work, filling a minor security post in one of the Bajoran labor camps. Sloan knew for a fact that the whole experience had left the Founder with a passionate hatred for the Cardassians and to a lesser extent the Bajorans.

Physically he had the typical odd look about him that Sloan had learned to identify as one of the characteristics of the Founders when they tried to emulate the Human form. His facial features looked slightly unformed as if he had become stuck halfway in his transformation. It was a disconcerting appearance. Something a lot of people found unsettling to look at for long. His clothes on the other hand, while non-descript, showed no lack of detail, which Sloan found odd, even if it wasn’t relevant right now. The Founder’s expression was thoughtful and intent.

Finally their silent appraisal was interrupted by the minister. “Gentlemen, why don’t we sit down to confer about the matter at hand?” the Vulcan asked, motioning toward a conference table to their right.

Following the minister’s gesture, Sloan shifted his attention to the minister’s office in general, taking in the entirety of the room. As they seated themselves at the conference table Sloan let his gaze wander over the minister’s desk, the visitors’ chairs in front of it, and the few carefully placed pieces of art. Apart from the spectacular view the room breathed an air of understated elegance. There was nothing present that would’ve indicated the minister’s occupation, neither as Minister of Security nor as head of the V’Shar, Vulcan’s security and intelligence agency. Briefly Sloan wondered if this tendency to obfuscate one’s trade was something that by some wordless consent all those who played in this game shared. Regardless of species one spy masters’ lair seemed to resemble them all.

Come to think of it, his own office on Bajor had certainly followed the same rule, and he had been very careful in the arrangement of its furnishings. It was an untimely reminder that he had lost it, and in part because of his own stupidity, made anger well up inside him though he forced it down immediately. He had no time for that now nor was there anything to gain by dwelling on past mistakes. His current assignment was far too important. If he played his cards right it would bring him back to the top in no time.

They sat down with the minister at the table’s front end and Sloan and the Founder facing each other on either side of him. An aide appeared who brought a tray with a carafe of water and glasses, put it down on the table, and left silently.

“Gentlemen,” the minister addressed them again, “We are here to discuss a very delicate matter. While my government has received rather extensive lists of demands made both by the Federation and the Dominion I suggest that we start by each of you highlighting the most pertinent requests to me. Once we’ve shared our points of view regarding this matter, we can begin to work toward an agreeable solution.” He glanced first at Sloan then at the Founder, who reacted with a scornful huff.

“There’s really not much to say,” the envoy answered in a rough tone of voice. “I’m here as a representative of the Dominion, because there have been several acts of terrorism, the latest being an obvious attempt to destroy our wormhole. We demand that you hand over any remains of our allegedly destroyed fighter. We also demand that you hand over any of its surviving crew, most notably that Federation defector you’re presently holding for questioning. Additionally we expect to be granted unrestricted access to all gathered evidence as well as the rogue Starfleet vessels’ captains for questioning.” He paused for a moment before continuing, giving first Sloan then the minister a hard look. “There you have it. I believe I’ve made our ‘point of view’ quite clear.”

Sloan had listened to the envoy’s short speech with slightly horrified fascination. To his surprise he felt completely unable to read the man. Was he really such an unrefined and coarse fool who didn’t know better, but to present his case in such a clumsy manner? Was he trying to emulate the classic bullying one might expect from a Cardassian? He had certainly been exposed to them long enough to pick up such a strategy. Or was he following an altogether different strategy Sloan couldn’t fathom?

Sloan looked over at the minister, attempting to gauge his reaction, but the Vulcan was as unreadable as the Founder, causing Sloan to sigh inwardly while he put on a serious yet friendly expression to present his own case.

“Well, Envoy, you’ve certainly left nothing open to misinterpretation,” he replied before Satok could come up with an answer of his own. He saw the Founder frown at Sloan’s form of address. Sloan wondered if the Founder truly thought anyone would be so foolish and address him as Mr. Odo Ital. Sloan’s Kardasi was good enough to discern both the irony as well as the inherent trap of that name. He wondered if the minister knew, but immediately answered his own question with a ‘Of course, he does’. He had to know and choosing to ignore the Founder’s obvious wish to be called ‘Nothing’ said something interesting about the Vulcan, though right now Sloan had no idea what exactly that might be.

“Well, Envoy,” Sloan said again, just for good measure. “You’ve indeed made your point of view very clear. The Federation however does take a slightly different stance.” He glanced over at the minister, giving the man a slight smile. “Please allow me to elaborate. We agree on the Dominion’s assessment that the acts committed by that group of so called Alliance rebels constitute terrorism. However, I’d like to point out that they were not only directed against the Dominion, but the Federation also. Therefore the Federation takes the stance that our claim precedes that of the Dominion. This claim is based on and reinforced by the following facts: The crimes were committed in the Alpha Quadrant. The center of operation of these terrorists lies on Bajor, putting them firmly within the Federation’s jurisdiction, since Bajor as a planet is a protectorate of the Federation. Finally, all the surviving perpetrators, currently being held in custody here on Vulcan, are exclusively Starfleet officers. They are first and foremost answerable to Starfleet. At its heart this is an internal matter of the Federation.

“Yet, in the spirit of our longstanding and close alliance with the Dominion, and while we expect an immediate extradition of all Starfleet personnel and already accumulated data by the Vulcan government, we will grant the Dominion supervised access to the criminals as well as complete access to all information that exists and will be produced during our investigation and following court-martial.” Sloan leaned back in his chair, looking at the Founder and the Vulcan. He got the reactions he had expected. Open disapproval by the Founder and polite and non-committal acknowledgement by Satok.

It was Satok who replied, “Thank you both. As I said most of what you so eloquently laid out has already been formulated by your government and the Federation Council, but while our diplomats are discussing the political aspects of this complex situation, it is our task to look for a more practical approach that addresses our respective security and intelligence requirements.”

“Unfortunately my time today is severely limited. I have to attend to a meeting of the Vulcan High Council. Therefore I close this meeting for today. I have asked my aide to prepare suitable accommodations for you. I hope you will accept them as a gesture of our hospitality. We will reconvene tomorrow morning.” He rose from his chair. “Once again, I thank you for your open words.” With a nod in both their directions he swiftly strode out of the room, not giving them the opportunity to comment or protest.

Sloan remained motionless for a moment. He had been utterly surprised by the minister’s sudden departure. Satok had politely and effectively thrown them out, and by leaving first he had also made sure that none of them might try to linger behind and have another word with him without the other party present. _So that’s the game he intends to play, setting the two of us up against each other, the clever bastard!_

Looking at the Founder still sitting across from him, Sloan saw his own surprise mirrored in the other’s face, but there was far more. The Founder was quietly fuming. Livid with rage he had balled his fists on the table and was staring straight ahead, not seeing Sloan, obviously concentrating on getting his anger back under control. _Interesting_ , Sloan thought. _I wonder how much it takes, to make him lose it._

It was Satok’s aide that broke the lengthening silence by entering the office, offering to show them the accommodations that had been prepared for them.

***

Two days later Bashir was restlessly pacing the confines of his small set of rooms. He had just spent almost two hours perusing all the publicly available information on the latest events happening outside. He had studied all the news channels, both the Vulcan ones as well as any others that he was allowed to access.

What he had learned had left him in a state of shock. For a while he had just sat at his desk, dumbfounded. Then his growing agitation had spurred him to his wanderings, leaving him with such an amount of nervous energy, he would’ve liked to take a run to burn it off. Instead he had to resign himself to his pacing, but at least he wasn’t forced to sit still. The words he had read and heard at his room’s computer terminal swam in his mind.

 

_‘Earlier today, a fleet of four of Starfleet’s most heavily armed ships arrived in Vulcan’s solar system, assuming a high orbit.’_

_‘… A heated debate within the Federation Council once again brought the deep rift between Vulcan and the rest of the Federation sharply into focus…’_

_‘No less than three Dominion battle cruisers have taken up position near T’kuht!’_

_‘The High Council has issued a sharp protest note, stating that the presence of Starfleet and Dominion ships in the Vulcan solar system can only be interpreted as a non-too subtle attempt of applying pressure – an attempt that is both futile not to mention irrational.’_

_‘No official statement has been made why a Founder of the Dominion, designated as a special Investigator has been sent to Vulcan. We can only assume, and it seems the only reasonable explanation, that he’s come to investigate Vulcan’s involvement into the recent trouble at the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant.’_

_‘The Grand Nagus has issued an investment alert for all Vulcan based corporations, stating that it is the rising likelihood of a Federation blockade enforced on the Vulcan system that makes this alert necessary…’_

 

Finally Bashir stopped in front of his window. Looking outside and up into the late afternoon sky, he tried to envision the ships gathered near Vulcan. It was a frightening thought, yet he couldn’t imagine that it would really come to the worst. He couldn’t imagine that the current tensions between Vulcan and the Federation would indeed escalate into an open conflict. Surely not even a Federation Council as crooked as the current one would go _that_ far, would it? And what about Starfleet?

The most frightening thought, however, was that he had somehow managed to get himself right into the middle of it. A tug of war over him and the officers of the _Hera_ and _T’Kumbra_ had set in between Vulcan on one side and the Dominion and the Federation on the other, with the Vulcan government treading an increasingly finer line in trying to prevent any extradition while still condemning their crimes.

The sound of the door chime was a welcome distraction to his dire thoughts. When he turned, he saw T’Pel coming into his room with a couple of PADDs in her hand. _Not another round of interrogations,_ he thought despairingly, but instead of asking him to come with her, she walked over to the couch and sat down, starting to spread the PADDs out in front of her on the low table.

He was doubly intrigued, both by her silence and also by the PADDs that now littered the table. Following her example, he sat down beside her and tried to take a casual glance at the PADD nearest to him, but saw that it only displayed the sigil of the V’Shar. So instead he turned toward her, waiting for her to finish her sorting.

It didn’t take long and she had arranged a set of five PADDs in front of them while she stacked the others, pushing them to the side. Giving him a serious look, she said, “Listen carefully. On these PADDs you’ll find a carefully crafted cover story. It gives a feasible explanation to your plans and actions since you’ve defected. It also provides a believable explanation for the whole wormhole incident. It is vital that you start to memorize this information as fast as possible.”

“Why?” Bashir threw in. While he had become used to her abrupt way of giving him information, her words had caused a flutter of alarm to rise in his throat. Would the Vulcans finally cave and extradite him?

“I assume you’re aware of the rising pressure our government is facing.” T’Pel answered, confirming his worst fears.

He nodded weakly.

T’Pel continued. “So far we’ve been able to withstand that pressure, but since only a very small number of ministers know about the full extent of the V’Shar’s involvement in this crisis, our influence is necessarily limited. Most of our government only knows this cover story.”

He interrupted her again, before she could continue. “So, you’re going to hand me over? I mean, it’s not as if there’s any chance of succeeding now, with the ship destroyed and the others gone, but what about the consequences for those in the V’Shar who were involved?” He paused as he followed this train of thought further, then he said, “How can you be sure that I’ll stick to this cover story once you’ve handed me over? Maybe I’m going to betray you to save my own skin.” He felt heat wash over him. He was shamefully aware of what he was doing, but, damn, he really didn’t want to give up without a fight.

T’Pel stared at him for a moment, her expression as cool and collected as ever. “There’s no need for this show of panic, Bashir. We’re not going to hand you over, and if necessary the V’Shar will step forward, freely and willingly, and admit its complicity to prevent further harm to others.”

“Then what is the cover story for?” Bashir asked.

Instead of answering T’Pel said, “I expect you to study and memorize the data on these PADDs carefully. I will return in the evening and test your knowledge, so be thorough, understood?”

“Come on, T’Pel. Why do I need a cover-story? For whom do I need it? Will there be a hearing by the Vulcan government?” he asked again.

To his relief T’Pel relented. “No, we’ve agreed to an interview by the Dominion’s and the Federation’s investigators. You’ll be interrogated by Director Sloan and the envoy of the Dominion,” she answered.

He froze, instantly terrified. He vividly remembered the state Garak had been in when they had sprung him free from Starfleet’s HQ on Bajor. Garak had been interrogated by Sloan and a Vorta, a representative of the Dominion. Bashir felt nauseated at the idea of facing the same situation.

Obviously alarmed by his reaction T’Pel added hastily, “You will be supervised the whole time. They cannot harm you and if you do as instructed it will undoubtedly be an uncomfortable experience but you will be able to handle it.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly too dry to speak, but he managed to get out a weak “I hope so.”

T’Pel gave him a resolute nod before she stood up and left.

***

Setting up a meeting with the Founder had been a necessity, though Sloan had the creeping suspicion that it might very well be a fruitless endeavor. After three days of tedious negotiations with Minister Satok, the head of the V’Shar had finally agreed to give them access to the Starfleet defector that had survived the crash of the stolen Dominion fighter on Vulcan. It was an indignity that they were only allowed to interrogate him together, but they had agreed nonetheless, even if the amount of useful information might be tending toward nil.

He was sitting on a park-bench in one of the numerous parks the diplomatic and governmental sector of ShiKahr housed. This one displayed a rather large collection of exotic plants, stemming from an equally large variety of planets. No doubt there was something deeply symbolic about the whole setting, but Sloan had no mind for it right now. The Founder was late, and considering his usual punctuality, there was no way this was a coincidence. Something must have happened, but he didn’t know what and it troubled him.

As the agreed upon time for their interview with the defector grew near, Sloan reluctantly decided to make his way to the ministry alone. Possibly the Founder was already waiting for him there, having decided that agreeing on a strategy wasn’t necessary and not caring to inform Sloan of this in advance. Come to think of it, that seemed to be the most likely explanation; there was no way to tell until he arrived at the ministry though.

The walk took him only minutes before Sloan once again entered the ministries huge lobby. He noticed immediately that something was amiss. There were security guards standing in front of the building’s entry as well as inside the lobby and on either side of the elevator doors that led up to the upper floors. The minister’s aide, T’Pel, already awaited him, and she politely ushered him into the elevator.

Once inside he asked, “I assume the envoy has already arrived?”

The aide gave him a cool look and then replied, “No, we’ve been told that he’s left Vulcan early this morning.” Her words seemed to imply that they weren’t altogether sure if the envoy had indeed left.

That Sloan definitely hadn’t expected. “I’d like to see Minister Satok before we continue,” he said.

“As you wish,” T’Pel agreed, changing their destination by pressing a few buttons on the elevator’s control panel.

***

Minister Satok sat at his desk reading when Sloan and the aide entered.

“Director Sloan wishes to see you, Minister,” she stated before silently withdrawing to the outer office.

Looking up at Sloan the minister asked, “Director Sloan, how may I help you?” He appeared completely at ease, as if nothing unusual had happened.

Not for the first time Sloan wanted to shatter that man’s calm, but for the moment gathering information was more important. “Your aide has informed me that the Dominion’s envoy has left the planet,” he said. He sat down in one of the visitors’ chairs facing the Minister’s desk.

The minister nodded. “That’s correct. We’ve been informed that he saw no reason to stay any further. Obviously the Dominion has lost interest in our cooperation.” He paused, as if he expected Sloan to comment. When Sloan remained silent, the minister continued, “By now the envoy should be already back in the Gamma Quadrant.”

“Who informed you?” Sloan asked.

The barest hint of a smile appeared on the minister’s face. “The envoy left a recorded message in his quarters. I can get you a copy if you like. The wording is rather memorable.”

Sloan snorted. It didn’t take much to imagine just how rude the message was. “Please add it to the other data you’ve compiled for me so far,” he told the minister.

This was a disaster he thought. With the Dominion officially withdrawing from the investigation, the situation could only become more volatile. Obviously the envoy hadn’t even thought it necessary to come up with some half-way believable pretext for his leaving. Rightfully he had assumed that no one would believe him anyway, and so he had not even tried.

It was obvious that the Founder was still on Vulcan. Sloan was sure about it and the Vulcans shared his certainty. It immediately explained the number of security guards in front of the ministry and in the lobby. Briefly he considered offering the minister his help, but he rejected the idea immediately. _No, let them struggle on their own for a while,_ he thought. Aloud he said, “There are an awful lot of security guards present all of the sudden. I wonder why.”

The minister raised an eyebrow. “It’s a simple precaution, Director,” he answered after a moment’s pause. “I can assure you that there’s no direct connection between the envoy’s sudden departure and our heightened security-measures.”

“No of course not,” Sloan replied smoothly. “But whatever his motivation for leaving so abruptly might’ve been, I don’t plan to forego this interview just because the envoy changed his mind.”

The minister’s reply was as dry as Vulcan’s desert winds. “I would’ve been disappointed if you had, Director.”

***

Sloan didn’t expect much from interrogating the defector. Naturally he had studied Bashir’s files, and it hadn’t taken Sloan long to realize that the good doctor was hardly more than a pawn in the terrorists’ game. The additional intel the Vulcans had collected in what they claimed had been extensive interviews was laughable at best.

The data Minister Satok’s aide had given Sloan after his first meeting with the minister and Dominion’s envoy painted a picture of Bashir as an individual whose defection was mostly based on a man’s moral choice. He had been involved in biological weapons research and at one point he had decided to run. Going through the transcripts of Bashir’s statements regarding his defection Sloan had found nothing of interest, just the usual, highly unoriginal mixture of naivety and romanticism. Sloan could’ve guessed most of it right after he had taken a first glance at Bashir’s psychological profile.

The data had gotten moderately more interesting after Bashir had accidentally made contact with the terrorists. Sloan hadn’t known that Bashir had been on Terok Nor prior to the station’s destruction and the successful take-over of Bajor.

It seemed that Bashir had been dragged along for most part, though it was unclear why. Here Bashir’s statements became fairly vague. Sloan couldn’t understand why the terrorists had bothered to take Bashir with them when they left Terok Nor. Had they assumed he might be useful as a hostage? Was he a decoy? According to his account Bashir had been kept in the dark about most of their plans. When questioned about his own motives he had reverted back to somewhat lame proclamations of making the morally right choices and so on.

Following the minister’s aide through the ministry, Sloan went through his most pertinent lines of inquiry. Even if Bashir really was nothing more than the dolt he appeared to be, interrogating such a low-level target sometimes unearthed information no one would have expected to be there. Sloan was a master in discovering such gems and he had every intention of making this exercise worth his while. At the very least he planned on discussing Bashir’s involvement in the attack on Starfleet’s HQ on Bajor. Sloan vividly remembered studying the installation’s security footage that had been recorded during the attack. Bashir had featured prominently in it.

Sloan felt slightly disappointed when he was finally led into the interview room. There was no one present and for a second Sloan suspected that T’Pel was about to give him some flimsy excuse for denying him direct access to the defector. He turned to the woman, giving her a questioning look.

“Please be seated, Director. I’ll be back shortly,” she said by way of an answer and, closing the door behind her, left him alone with his thoughts.

The room offered little that seemed worth inspecting. In its center stood a table with two chairs on opposite sides. There were no windows, and the walls were painted in a uniform yellowish-brown, mimicking Vulcan’s natural color spectrum. The most interesting feature was a large opaque section set in one of the room’s walls. _The spectator’s gallery_ , Sloan thought with amusement. He would’ve been surprised if that particular feature had been missing. He gave the room an appraising glance and, choosing one of the chairs randomly, he sat down to wait for the aide to return.

***

He didn’t have to wait long. He had barely found the time to lean back, when the door to the room hissed open and Bashir came in. For Sloan it was a more than interesting sight. Gesturing towards the empty chair opposite from him, he said, “Sit down, Mr. Bashir.”

Sloan knew that there was no use in trying to win this one over. Sloan was here primarily as an outside investigator, not an interrogator. He had neither the means nor the time for an in-depth interrogation. On the other hand he was fairly sure that Bashir knew about some of the unpleasant things that had happened to his, now deceased, fellow terrorist as he had enjoyed Sloan’s hospitality on Bajor.

Thinking back to the few encounters Sloan had had with the Cardassian, he felt a certain amount of regret that it hadn’t been him instead of the doctor that had survived the Dominion fighter’s crash on Vulcan. He was sure that interrogating the Cardassian again would’ve been far more challenging and informative. _Oh, well, if wishes were horses_. He would’ve to make do with what was offered to him.

He watched closely as Bashir sat down. Something about the man’s movements as off, but for the moment Sloan couldn’t put a finger on it, not until he saw Bashir’s eyes when the man finally dared to look him in the eye.

“What’s wrong with him?” Raising his voice, Sloan addressed the room at large.

Unsurprisingly it was the aide’s voice that replied almost instantly, her voice seemingly coming from one corner of the room’s ceiling. “There’s nothing wrong with him, Director,” she said.

Sloan gave Bashir another scrutinizing look, taking his time to take in his whole demeanor, the sweaty look of Bashir’s skin, the slightly glazed eyes and the jittery movements of his hands that he’d folded in front of him, but couldn’t keep still as Sloan’s gaze lingered on him.

It didn’t take Sloan long to arrive at a definite conclusion. “He’s been drugged,” he stated with certainty. “Why?”

This time there was a slight pause before the woman answered. “Merely a mild sedative, Director. Mr. Bashir was getting increasingly agitated while waiting for this interview to take place. I assumed you would prefer him to be at least coherent enough to answer some of your questions.”

 _Condescending cow_. Sloan felt an almost overwhelming urge to tell her in detail and no uncertain terms what he thought of her actions, not to speak of the condescending tone her voice had acquired during her last words. Sure, a sedative was effective in calming down a prisoner, but it also was a very effective way if one wanted to camouflage an individual’s normal physical reactions to lying. Naturally, he didn’t yell at her, he didn’t even sigh.

Drawing on his long years of experience and his considerable skill, Sloan decided he would show them what a real professional could accomplish. He gave the young man in front of him a wary look, then schooled his features to display nothing but practiced calm. “Very well, Mr. Bashir,” he said. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”  


	6. Chapter 6

The Present

Vulcan, ShiKahr

“Your presence here is becoming a threat to Vulcan, a threat I cannot and will not ignore. The only logical solution to this dilemma is to… dispose of you,” Minister Satok said.

The words kept echoing in Bashir’s mind, chasing each other around in ever more tightening circles. He lowered his gaze, unable to bear the expression he saw on the minister’s face. Suddenly he thought he understood at least one of the reasons why Humans and Vulcans clashed so violently every once in a while. It was such a fundamental difference, this cold and logical decision-making that left no room for empathy or mercy and was utterly alien to a Human.

The minister spoke again. “There’s one thing left to do here. Please follow me.” He turned and walked out of the room.

Despite the numbness that seemed to shroud all his thoughts Bashir was scared. Looking back, he cast one last glance out of his room’s window, realizing that it might be his last, regretting that it wasn’t the sky of Earth. Slowly he followed the Vulcan out of the room. They used the elevator to get to the top floor and silently walked through a corridor. Bashir paid little attention to his surroundings, but he was slightly startled by the amount of security guards present. He couldn’t help but wonder if they really thought he was _that_ dangerous or that prone to escape. He kept his eyes fixed on his feet and the floor in front of him. Finally they arrived in what looked like an empty outer office. There wasn’t much here: just a small desk to one side and a couple of uncomfortable chairs on the other, with a set of large doors in the middle.

“This way,” the minister said. With an almost impatient gesture he palmed the doors open and walked swiftly into the adjourning room.

Again Bashir paused. He was getting more and more unnerved. With effort he forced himself into breathing deeply and slowly, trying to stop his hands from trembling. Ruefully he shook his head. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable, regardless what that might be.

The room he entered was a surprise. His imagination had shown him pictures of some kind of bizarre executioner’s chamber – dark and claustrophobic. Instead he found himself in a large and elegant office. Even more unexpected and quite shocking was the sight of Director Sloan who sat at a large conference table that occupied almost one half of the room. Sloan looked incredibly bored. T’Pel was also present, standing at one of the office’s large windows. _Maybe she had enjoyed the view before we came in_ , Bashir thought. Now she stood with her back to the window, her dark silhouette creating a striking contrast to the intensity of Vulcan’s red sky behind her.

Bashir sought out her eyes. He was anxious to meet her gaze. His heart sank, when he saw her look back at him, her face as expressionless as the minister’s. Bashir wanted to go to her, ask her what was going on, ask for her help, or plead if he had to, but he didn’t dare. He felt frozen to the spot.

“Director Sloan, thank you for joining us today,” the minister said. Gesturing for Bashir to follow him, he walked over to a large desk and sat down behind it.

Bashir felt unsure as to what was expected of him. He watched as Sloan slowly rose, then came over and sat down in one of the chairs standing in front of the minister’s desk. Bashir most certainly didn’t want to sit down beside Sloan. He felt intensely awkward as he stepped closer to the desk but remained standing, resting his hands on the chair’s backrest in front of him, his grip tightening instinctively. He watched as T’Pel joined him, first stepping to his side, then startling him by grasping his arm at the elbow. Though her grip wasn’t too hard, it was clearly meant to restrain. Bashir wondered if he should step aside, but he was sure she wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t let him free himself from this strange display of custody. He gave her a questioning look. It wasn’t returned.

“Why am I here, Minister?” Sloan asked, his gaze moving from Satok to Bashir and T’Pel, briefly flickering to her hand at Bashir’s arm then back to the minister.

_He’s as much in the dark as I am_ , Bashir thought, _maybe even more so_. He stared down at Sloan’s head. He wished he could feel at least the tiniest bit of satisfaction because of it, but the circumstances were far too grim for that.

“Yesterday, before you interviewed Doctor Bashir, you asked me a question about the Dominion’s envoy who left us so abruptly. You insinuated that the Founder might still be on Vulcan,” the minister answered. “Today I can confirm your suspicion. We have very good reason to believe that the Founder is still on Vulcan. We do not have any hard evidence so far. He hasn’t been sighted, but the circumstantial evidence strongly points in that direction.”

“I see,” Sloan replied noncommittally. “That doesn’t answer my question, though.”

The minister nodded. Looking over at Bashir he continued, “Learning that there is a strong possibility that we have a Founder on the loose on Vulcan has caused grave concern among our High Council. It’s a clear violation of the Dominion-Federation treaty that clearly states that no Founder might use their shape-shifting abilities on any world of the Federation without first seeking authorization.”

The minister’s gaze shifted away from Bashir, settling on Sloan instead. “Regardless of our current difficulties Vulcan _still_ is a Federation world, but it seems that the Dominion no longer believes it necessary to treat us as such. Taking this into consideration we’ve come to the conclusion that Bashir’s presence here poses an incalculable risk. We simply can’t afford any more incidences that might give cause for a new rise of tensions between us and the Federation.”

Bashir stood stock-still at those words. He hadn’t been told that the Dominion’s envoy had vanished. Learning of it now left him with a queasy feeling in his stomach. He had wondered why the Founder hadn’t shown up for the interrogation yesterday, but he hadn’t gotten an answer from T’Pel when he asked her about it. The information also shed a new light on the minister’s desire to get rid of Bashir. With a Founder on the loose Bashir’s presence on Vulcan had become even more of a risk than it already had been before.

Yet Sloan’s presence could mean that the V’Shar didn’t plan to ‘dispose’ of Bashir by killing him. Maybe they were willing to hand him over to Sloan, but no, that didn’t make sense, not after what T’Pel had told him. They must know that given enough time Sloan would get the true story out of him eventually. Bashir had told T’Pel about Sloan’s ruthlessness. How far the man was willing to go to get what he wanted. Bashir couldn’t suppress the shiver that thought caused. The idea of being at Sloan’s mercy chilled him to the core.

Sloan’s mind had obviously followed the same path as Bashir’s because he asked, “You’re going to hand him over?” His tone clearly betrayed his disbelief that he had come to the right conclusion.

Slowly the minister shook his head. Leaning to the side, he pulled open a desk drawer and with another glance at Bashir he put a phaser on his desk, pushing it across toward Sloan.

Bashir could only stare. The slight scratching sound of metal on the desk’s surface made his hairs rise on the nape of his neck.

“There is only one viable solution,” the minister said. His gaze stayed on Sloan unwaveringly, blocking out anything but the man in front of him, his fixed gaze blocking out Bashir’s presence completely.

_Like a lamb led to the slaughter._ The thought came unbidden to Bashir’s mind. Well, maybe not a lamb, but he couldn’t come up with anything else now, the phrase insistently playing in his mind over and over, mocking and taunting him. He looked down at Sloan, trying to read the man’s expression, but couldn’t make out the man’s face. As it turned out, he didn’t need to.

When Sloan spoke his voice was full of disbelief and incredulity. “What are you proposing?” he asked. “That _I_ shoot him? _Here_? Are you out of your mind?” His questions followed each other rapidly, almost tumbling over each other, piling up in a tangled heap of suspicion and barely veiled accusations.

Though he stayed silent, Bashir had to agree wholeheartedly, even if it was Sloan he found himself agreeing with. The minister’s suggestion, his bizarre offer was simply ridiculous. Again Bashir stared at the phaser in horrid fascination. _This really can’t be happening._

“My intention is to remove an obstacle,” Satok replied patiently, his voice so serious, Bashir almost laughed at the absurdity of the whole situation.

The minister continued, “The Federation is demanding that Bashir is released into their custody. The Vulcan High Council remains adamant in its decision to deny such a request. However,” the minister leaned forward, fixing Sloan with a hard stare, “I think we are in agreement that losing Bashir to a Founder would be the worst case scenario for both sides. My aide’s interrogations have produced evidence that Bashir has gained certain information about Vulcan as well as the Federation that should never come to the Dominion’s attention.

“We cannot guarantee his safety on Vulcan, not if that Founder is looking for ways of getting to him, and I can’t fathom any other reason why the envoy might have chosen to stay.” He leaned back again, his tight expression turning back to the mask it had been at the beginning of this meeting. “I repeat. The only logical solution is to remove the object of discontent between us and to neutralize the threat.” Briefly his gaze flickered to Bashir, a look of cold calculation that made Bashir shiver again. Then the minister looked at Sloan.

Who in turn stared back at the minister, clearly not convinced. Wordlessly he crossed his arms in front of his chest, clearly waiting for more.

The minister sighed, then said. “Again, I truly believe that it’s in both our people’s best interest to prevent the already existing conflict between Vulcan and the Federation from escalating even further. We need peace and we need a united front in our dealings with the Dominion. Otherwise they might take our internal conflicts as a sign of weakness. They might come to the conclusion that their treaty with the Federation was a mistake. They might decide to just take instead of negotiate.”

Sloan gave Satok another long and scrutinizing look. Then he looked down at the phaser and acted with startling alacrity. In a swift move he picked up the phaser, checked its energy charge, rose to his feet and turned toward Bashir, bringing up the phaser and aiming it directly at Bashir’s head.

It all happened so fast, Bashir was completely unprepared, reacting with nothing than a startled intake of air. He tried taking a step back but was stopped by T’Pel whose grip around his elbow turned fierce now, causing him to wince. He stared at Sloan, stunned and afraid. He still couldn’t believe that the Vulcans would do this to him, but Sloan shooting him? That was something he had no trouble imagining.

Sloan gave him a long, speculating look. A nasty smirk appeared on his face, but then he lowered the weapon as swiftly as he had picked it up. Turning back to the minister, he carelessly dropped the phaser back on the desk. Dropping back in his chair, Sloan said, “No, Minister, you can take care of that matter yourself. Of course I expect irrefutable proof afterwards.” He leaned back in his chair, his poise changing into a picture of perfect, if slightly bored nonchalance.

Reaching out, the minister pulled the phaser slowly toward him, bowing his head in acknowledgement. “Of course, Director.” He threw a glance at T’Pel.

Bashir found himself practically dragged out of the room, nearly stumbling when his stiff legs didn’t catch up fast enough with the rest of his body. He hadn’t realized how much he had tensed up and struggled not to lose his footing. Once outside, T’Pel didn’t slow down but proceeded to drag him down the corridor and into the elevator. Obviously she would be his executioner.

Though his mind had come almost to a stand-still when Sloan aimed that phaser at him, it once again started throwing ideas and thoughts and pictures at him. He really didn’t want to die. He wanted to talk to her, but he had no idea what to say. Trying to beg for his life seemed rather useless at this point, but it felt important that he said something, anything, just so he wouldn’t die a mute and unresisting victim. He barely noticed when they entered the elevator.

He was still frantically searching for the right words when T’Pel pushed him against the elevator’s wall face-first. She might be shorter and slighter than him, but there was no doubt about her superior Vulcan strength. Bashir felt handcuffs close around his wrists, and he let his shoulders slump in defeat. Suddenly it seemed more than useless trying to talk to T’Pel.

He felt himself pulled around again and shoved against the wall again, his bound hands uncomfortably digging into his back. Suddenly T’Pel’s face was very close to his and _that_ sight made him ignore everything else as he stared at her face. Her voice was barely more than a whisper when she said, “Whatever happens once we’re outside, I want you to stay silent. Do as I say and you will come to no harm, understood?”

Now he felt sorely tempted to scream in frustration. Just what sick game was being played here? Did she mean what she just said, or was she just toying with him, trying to gain his cooperation by tricking him into submission? He didn’t know. He had no way of uncovering her real intentions. He stared at her for a moment, taking in her features, the dark brown eyes, the slanted eyebrows, her mouth, lips pressed together firmly, creating a grim line of determination. How much he wanted to trust her, but could he?

Still uncertain, he simply nodded in the end, allowing her to maneuver him out of the elevator. Instead of stepping into yet another corridor, Bashir found himself outside. He was hit by a blast of hot air as they stepped onto what was apparently the ministry building’s rooftop. He tried to look over his shoulder to catch a glance of T*Pel’s face again, but she shoved him forward, causing him to stumble forward.

Not far away he now saw a small shuttle standing on a landing pad. In front of it stood two guards who greeted T’Pel with respectful nods when she and Bashir came closer. Stepping aside, the guards let them pass. Bashir saw that the shuttle’s back-hatch was already open, waiting for them to board as if their arrival here had been expected.

***

Within a minute they were in the air. T’Pel was busy checking the shuttle’s status while she cleared their flight with the local Vulcan flight control. Bashir noticed that she didn’t state their destination, only giving their flight number and her authorization code, so he had no idea where they were going. He shifted in the co-pilot’s seat T’Pel had pushed him into earlier, trying to find a more comfortable position that wouldn’t press his bound hands against his back. Soon though, the view outside took all his attention as they left the city-limits and flew out over the open desert.

Years ago during his time at Starfleet Medical Academy he had spent hours familiarizing himself with all the major worlds of the Federation. It had been his private project, a pleasurable pastime to indulge in when he was too tired to study anything more important. It seemed only sensible to acquaint himself with these alien worlds and strange landscapes. He knew it wouldn’t take long, and he would be out there, seeing and experiencing them for real. The thought alone had sent a thrill of excitement though him. He had read a lot, but often he had just stared at pictures and vids, gorging himself on the exotic sights and unfamiliar landscapes until his imagination ran wild before he finally had fallen asleep, dreaming of strange jungles glowing like amber and beckoning oceans as turquoise and jade as jewels.

The pictures of Vulcan had shown him a barren world, a planet largely covered by deserts and sheer rock. He had thought it beautiful regardless. Now, however, after spending so much time locked away inside buildings, he was finally able to see Vulcan in all its stark glory.

Staring out of the shuttle’s viewscreen, he reveled in the vast expanse of desert, stretching out in front of them. There were mountain ranges parallel to their flight path, but in front of them lay only a sheer endless expanse of desert. His whole field of vision was a world painted in hues of red, orange and ocher, but the feeling of looking at a land laid to waste, the feeling he’d had when he had stared at those pictures of Vulcan landscapes back at the Academy, that feeling was absent now. Instead he felt very young, as if he was in the presence of something incredibly ancient and powerful. It was intimidating and overpowering, but at the same time strangely soothing in all its monochrome beauty. For a while he lost himself in the view.

It took a polite clearing of her throat from T’Pel for him to return to his current troubles. All the urgency he had felt before, his need to speak to T’Pel, seemed to have left him sometime during their flight. He felt terribly reluctant. If neither of them spoke, this strange place of peace he had discovered might continue. He wanted it to continue, if only for a few more minutes.

He still didn’t know what to think. Either he could trust T’Pel and her promise or he couldn’t, and if the latter was true, he really didn’t want to know before the end. He cast a surreptitious glance at T’Pel.

Maybe she sensed his indecisiveness or maybe she had independently come to the decision to offer him more information. _Or maybe she thinks it’s time to throw you out of the shuttle_ , his treacherous mind whispered at him unhelpfully. Whatever it was, she set the shuttle to auto-pilot and got up, gesturing him to do the same.

Awkwardly he pushed himself to his feet, not an easy feat without the help of his hands, but he finally managed.

“Turn around,” she said.

In an instant ice-cold fear settled in his stomach. He really didn’t want to turn his back to her. Slowly he turned around. Then he felt her hands brushing over his wrists as she freed him of the handcuffs.

“Relax, Bashir. I’ve no intention of killing you,” she said, as if she sensed his fears.

He felt the touch of her hand, pressed briefly between his shoulder blades. It was such an odd gesture of reassurance coming from a Vulcan, but he missed it the second the hand was gone.

He turned around again and saw that she had settled back into the pilot’s seat. Following her example, he did the same and turned toward her. “Then why?” he asked with an outward calm that was a complete lie, making him feel quite proud of himself.

She looked at him approvingly. “The Founder,” she answered. “He was the main reason. Director Sloan we could handle easily, but losing sight of the Founder was a most unfortunate development. Minister Satok was telling nothing than the truth when he declared that we couldn’t guarantee your safety in our custody.”

“So you decided to stage this charade,” he said. “You could have let me in on it,” he added, his tone growing accusatory of its own volition.

The shake of her head didn’t exactly come as a surprise. “No, Bashir, you might have many qualities, but you wouldn’t have been able to pull this off convincingly. You’re just not a good enough liar.”

He didn’t know if he should feel flattered or insulted. He remembered that Garak had told him the same when they had rehearsed for Bashir’s enactment of an arrogant Starfleet command officer. Then Garak had backhanded him and Bashir had been so furious at the Cardassian, only to see Garak grin at him, pleased with the result of his uncalled for abuse.

Forcibly Bashir shook himself free of the memory. Garak was dead and this definitely wasn’t the time for idle reminiscence. Focusing on T’Pel again and deciding to ignore her comment on his acting capabilities, he said, “I thought Vulcans never lie.”

Obviously it had been just the right comment to make. He saw one of those thin-lipped almost smiles play around her mouth when she answered.

“Of course we don’t, Bashir. Everyone knows that Vulcans are incapable of lying.”

Bashir only gave her a knowing smirk, then sobered as he asked, “Where are we going?”

“We’re headed for T’Karath. Your people are waiting there as well as your ship.”

“My people?” he echoed, for a moment not comprehending what she meant, until it suddenly hit him. She was talking of his people - Kira, Garak and Pavale, even the _Scarab_.

“They are alive?” he exclaimed. Seeing her nod, he yelled at her, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He saw her pull back at his outbreak, her eyebrows vanishing beneath the hairline of her impeccable straight fringe, even though her face remained otherwise expressionless. He couldn’t believe that she was surprised at his reaction. To drop such a bomb-shell on him as if the fact that his friends, the friends he had been told had died in the _Scarab’s_ crash, were still alive was more than cruel, regardless how delighted he felt about their survival. It took all his self-discipline not to grab her and give her a well-deserved shaking for her duplicity.

“I would appreciate it, if you would refrain from shouting at me,” she said calmly. “The information has been treated on a strict ‘need-to-know’ basis. You didn’t need to know,” she continued.

He was still staring at her, searching for words to describe the utter wrongness of what she had just said, when a soft warning sound interrupted them.

T’Pel looked at her controls. “We’re reaching our intended crash site,” she said.

_What the…_ Bashir thought in confusion, but before he could ask any question, T’Pel was already explaining. “The shuttle is rigged. We’re going to leave now. An analysis of the shuttle’s debris will produce the necessary evidence of Human remains.” She rose as she spoke.

Bashir watched her as she pulled two packs out of a side compartment. She handed one over to him and slung the other on her back, securing it tightly. _Parachutes_ , he thought and began mimicking her preparations.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to transport out of the shuttle before crashing it?” he asked.

She turned toward the shuttle’s closed hatch, overriding the security lock that normally prevented it from opening during flight.

“It would,” she answered. “However, the area around T’Karath prevents transporting. It’s a natural phenomenon, mostly.” Giving him one last glance over her shoulder, she jumped.

Hastily he stepped to the open hatchway. He gasped when Vulcan’s hot desert air hit him full force. Looking down, he saw that T’Pel had already deployed her parachute, its white canopy clearly visible against the backdrop of the reddish desert dunes.

He jumped and waited only a second before pulling the pilot chute. The drag upward was less pronounced than he had expected, pulling at his arms and shoulders. For a moment he was worried, but then the explanation came to him. Vulcan’s higher gravity and thinner atmosphere were taking their toll here as they did with everything else. He prepared himself for the higher impact velocity.

Sparing little time to check the parachutes design, he looked down again, and seeing T’Pel’s canopy slowly drifting to his right, he experimentally tried to steer, remembering the basics he had learned during his Academy training, discovering that he hadn’t forgotten the basic principles. Naturally parachuting hadn’t been a mandatory course at the Academy, but now he felt incredibly grateful he had taken it nonetheless. He wondered if T’Pel knew of the fact. The answer came immediately. _Of course she knows. She’s V’Shar, and if she’s any good at her job, there’s probably very little she doesn’t know about you. Besides, those parachute lessons weren’t exactly a secret, weren’t they?_

Then he thought of the others, who were somewhere down there, who were alive. They hadn’t died. Garak was alive. Bashir felt so relieved; it left him feeling almost nauseous. He laughed out loud and felt his laughter being ripped away by the air rushing past his face. They’d even managed to salvage the _Scarab_ , though he had no idea in which shape. He remembered seeing pictures in the news that showed the fighter’s crash-site. There had been nothing left than a smoking skeleton of metal amidst a sea of glass, as the heat of the exploding ship had melted the desert sands. _They faked it,_ he thought, grinning wildly. _The damn Vulcans faked it._

The downward glide was fast and short. They’d been barely high enough to allow for a safe jump, he realized. He saw the ground closing fast, and he concentrated on his landing, bracing himself for the impact. They were over stony ground, so there was nothing to soften the impact, yet he managed to land and roll without more than a few jolts and bumps. Releasing the canopy to prevent any dragging, he started to collect it, rolling it up as he walked toward T’Pel.

She was just in the process of doing the same when a loud explosion not too far away and in the direction of the afternoon sun made both of them turn in unison. _The shuttle,_ Bashir thought. He couldn’t remember hearing the actual crash. The force of the explosion hinted at something else. “Explosives?” he asked.

T’Pel didn’t answer. Instead she only said, “This way.” With a slight jerk of her head she indicated the opposite direction. “T’Karath is less than two miles away. We’ll have to hurry to get out of sight before the first search vessel arrives.” She set off at a brisk pace and Bashir hastily followed. Casting a look over his shoulder, he saw a column of smoke rising into the air. He looked forward again and noticed that T’Pel had started to jog. With a sigh he did the same,

Within minutes he was sweating and breathless and ready to drop to the ground. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. In fact he hadn’t expected anything else. He just wasn’t able to handle the high gravity and thin atmosphere and exert himself like this, but there was no way of changing that, not unless someone gave him a couple of shots of tri-ox. T’Pel, however, was relentless, spurring him on as she slowed down just enough to stay at his side.

“We’re almost there, Bashir,” she said, sounding remarkably impatient for a Vulcan.

He knew she meant well, but the fact that she wasn’t even the slightest bit out of breath, her appearance as crisp and utterly unruffled as if they were doing nothing more than taking a stroll, only added injury to insult. Gritting his teeth, he tried to make a last concerted effort, then almost stumbled in shock when he noticed a strange glimmering in the air. From one moment to the next the whole scenery around them changed.

T’Pel immediately slowed down and Bashir was grateful to follow her example. He looked around curiously. In front of them, no more than 50 meters away, loomed the precipice of a deep basin carved into the rock as if a giant had reached down from the sky and punched a hole in the ground for some secret treasure to hide.

The treasure as it turned out were structures of buildings, very old buildings by the look of it.

As they drew near to the precipice’s edge, Bashir noticed something peculiar about them. From their vantage point he could see stone columns and arches, but he could also see what looked like painted steel doors set into the stone. Someone had gone to great lengths to preserve most of this obviously ancient place and transform it into something much more. It was an odd mixture of old and new, blended together almost flawlessly. He turned to T’Pel, a thousand questions on his mind.

“Welcome to T’Karath, Doctor. Welcome to one of the best hidden headquarters of the V’Shar,” she said. She led him to a steep stairway that wove its way through and around a large pillar of stone until it finally reached ground level.

He followed her slowly, trying to take it all in. Everything was beginning to feel more and more like a dream, a very bizarre one to be sure. The events leading up to their arrival here had been hectic, stressful and full of surprises. Now it seemed he was descending to a secret and ancient place, hidden from prying eyes and promising like forbidden knowledge.

On ground level there was at least partial shade and Bashir was relieved to be out of the direct sunlight. He looked around again. The whole place emanated the air of an ancient temple or sanctuary. He took a deep breath, noticing the smell of sunbaked stone and earth and the hint of moisture, maybe even flowing water. _A real treasure_ , he thought, _and in more than one sense of the word it seems_. A loud yell, coming from a voice he recognized instantly, interrupted his musings.

“Bashir!” Kira’s voice rang through the sanctuary’s atrium. He saw her coming down another stairway on the opposite side of it, taking two or three steps at once, her gaze flicking back and forth between him and the steps in front of her so she wouldn’t fall in her haste. Then she was running toward him and he found himself pulled into a tight embrace. He couldn’t remember having her ever seen so enthusiastic around him, but having his arms full of a beautiful Bajoran certainly wasn’t a hardship. Letting go of the rolled up parachute, he returned her embrace with all the strength he could muster.

Over her shoulder he could see Garak and Pavale coming down the stairs, too, though they’d chosen a more dignified pace than Kira. Bashir thought they both looked remarkably well and finally the realization sunk in fully: against all odds they had all survived and not only that; they were once again together. He felt his knees grow weak, and letting go of Kira, he half fell, half sat down on the ground, staring up at her and T’Pel and the others as they joined them, seeing the suddenly worried expressions on their faces, yet feeling unable to say anything. His throat ached, making him feel awkward and relieved and above all making him feel whole again.

He got back to his feet and caught Kira in another embrace, conveying to her without words that he was all right. Pavale was the next one who pulled him into her arms though her embrace was short. Stepping back, she gave him a playful slap for ‘worrying them like he had’. That left only Garak, and Bashir wasn’t sure what to expect. A handshake or just a polite nod seemed entirely possible. He was pleasantly surprised when he found himself embraced once again, even though it was equally short as Pavale’s. Bashir knew he was grinning like a fool when Garak let go, but right then he couldn’t have cared less.

“I suggest we move inside,” T’Pel told them at last, stepping in and effectively bringing their reunion to an end. “This place is shielded by a holographic projection and the natural geomagnetic interference of the place, so we are safe from detection, but Bashir should get some rest. He had a rather eventful day so far, and we had to move swiftly by foot to get here. He’s undoubtedly suffering from slight dehydration by now.”

Bashir chuckled appreciatively at hearing her call his day eventful. It was such a nice understatement – perfectly Vulcan. He nodded at T’Pel, before he turned back to the others. “I certainly wouldn’t say no to a glass of water, and getting inside sounds good, too,” he answered with another grin.

T’Pel led them toward one of the camouflaged doors Bashir had noticed earlier. It seemed to lead directly into concrete rock. Bashir half-way expected to find a roughly hewn cavern inside, but once they’ve stepped through they stood in a softly lit hallway that could’ve been a part of any other modern building with the exception of a lack of windows.

T’Pel swiftly led them through a maze of corridors. Bashir lost track of their route almost instantly, and for a moment he felt disconcerted, slowing his steps. Then he felt Kira’s hand at his elbow. “You all right, Bashir?” she asked, smiling at him as she stepped closer, drawing level with him. He shook his head and smiled back. “It’s just a lot to take in,” he answered.

Before long T’Pel stopped in front of a pair of slightly larger doors than most Bashir had seen so far. Bashir wasn’t sure what to expect: a control room maybe? Another office like the one at the Ministry of Security? As it turned out the doors led to something far more prosaic.

The canteen was large and filled with people. The sight was quite a shock. Once again it felt like stepping into a completely different world. After the relative quiet of the desert and the exciting but brief reunion with Kira and the others, Bashir found himself confronted with a beehive of bustling activity. If possible he would’ve taken a step back, but Kira and the others behind him didn’t give him the opportunity.

Taking his arm, Kira walked with him through the room, steering them around tables where Vulcans sat and ate. What had looked like chaotic activity at first, now appeared much more ordered to Bashir. He let his gaze wander, taking in the whole scene.

Leading him to an empty table, Kira pulled him down onto a chair beside her. Giving him a wide grin, she said, “Prophets, Bashir. It’s good to have you back with us.”

He smiled at her, then looked up as Pavale and Garak sat down across from them while T’Pel remained standing. “I’m leaving you with your friends, Bashir. We’ll meet tomorrow morning to discuss the latest events and our next steps,” she said, and with a polite bow she left them alone.

For a moment the four of them sat in silence until Pavale reached out, and filling a glass from a carafe of water, pushed it across the table toward Bashir.

Taking a large gulp, Bashir took another glance around. To his surprise none of the Vulcans seemed to spare them any particular attention. All three of his friends still wore their black non-descript combat gear, and while Pavale might just barely pass as a Vulcan, Garak and Kira surely didn’t blend in. The same could be said for Bashir himself, even though he at least wore Vulcan clothing.

It took him a while before he became aware of the others’ expectant faces. They seemed to be waiting for him to say something. “Quite a place you’ve found here,” he said at last, hoping he sounded sufficiently appreciative without appearing too awe-struck. Judging by the snorting noise coming from Kira and the eye-roll Garak gave him, he was only partly successful.

“So, what have you been up to?” he tried again. This time it was T’Pel who rolled her eyes while Kira laughed. Patting his hand, Kira said, “I think we’ll let Garak fill you in.”

Bashir saw her share a look with Pavale. Rising to her feet, she said to the Romulan, “Come on, Belle. Let’s take another look at the _Scarab_.”

Bashir watched the two women slowly making their way through the room. Just before they vanished through the canteen’s exit, he saw Kira looking over her shoulder. He could have sworn he saw her wink. He was grateful that she’d decided to leave him and Garak alone and take Pavale with her. After all that had happened to him, suddenly finding himself reunited with all three of them was slightly overwhelming.

He looked at Garak, unsure what to say and where to begin. He knew he should say something, but every line that crossed his mind, felt either far too trite or exceedingly soppy, and he would rather bite his tongue than get sentimental while sitting in a room full of Vulcans, even if they didn’t seem interested in him.

Finally Bashir blurted out, “I thought you were dead.”

At the same time Garak said, “I was worried about you.”

Their voices and words intermingled and for a second they looked at each other sheepishly, before Garak spoke again, “Let’s go to my room. This place is far too public for any private conversation.”

Bashir couldn’t agree more.

***

When the door to Garak’s room hissed shut behind them there was another awkward moment when Bashir simply stood there, staring at Garak. He still felt self-conscious. He wanted to talk to Garak and he had about a million questions, starting with how the whole faked crash had been accomplished. He wanted to tell Garak everything that had happened to him. He wanted to hear how Garak and the others had fared. He was excited and tired and the sheer sight of Garak, standing in front of him, made his stomach flutter with arousal.

It was too much. He simply couldn’t decide what to do.

Fortunately Garak hadn’t the same problem. Pulling Bashir close, Garak kissed him, slow and lazy. Obviously he wasn’t particularly interested in continuing the conversation they’d started in the canteen. Bashir was fine with that, more than fine actually. He let his hands wander up Garak’s arms until they rested on Garak’s shoulders. Further upward Bashir’s fingertips barely fluttered over the Garak’s neckridges, causing an appreciative groan from Garak, more felt through their kiss than heard.

This was exactly what Bashir had wanted, but there was one thing he had to get out of the way. Breaking the kiss, he took a step back. “All the time no one told me, but I’m really glad, you’re not dead,” he said, not caring how silly it sounded. Garak only gave him a somewhat resigned look. It wasn’t exactly what Bashir had hoped for, though he wasn’t sure what he had expected. An apology? That didn’t feel right. After all it hadn’t been Garak who had lied to him and withheld information, not this time. Sympathy? That definitely wasn’t one of the Cardassian’s strongpoints. Bashir looked at Garak, searching his face for something at least, understanding maybe. Garak looked at him, slightly flushed. It definitely wasn’t the right time for conversation, Bashir decided; getting them both out of their clothes sounded like a far better plan right now.

He pulled at the fastenings of Garak’s pants, ignoring the Cardassian’s amused chuckle. Bashir was aware that he wasn’t acting the most sophisticated here, but having finally decided on a plan of action, he felt decisive and impatient. He really had no time for any mocking. Stealing another quick kiss, he hummed in appreciation when Garak finally chose to help by sliding his hands underneath Bashir’s tunic before pulling it over his head.

_Finally_ , Bashir thought. Acting out of sheer impulse he gave Garak a hard push that sent him a couple of steps backwards toward the bed. The sight alone made Bashir’s pulse quicken. Two steps and he could shove again, this time pushing Garak down on the bed. Getting rid of the rest of their clothes was a matter of seconds.

Still standing in front of the bed, Bashir watched avidly as Garak slowly moved backwards until he could stretch out on the bed. He in turn gave Bashir a scrutinizing look, and Bashir was sure that his slight loss of weight as well as the barely noticeable skin discolorations – the only tell-tale signs of the operations that had been performed on him after the _Scrab’s_ crash – were noted and filed.

Bashir took his time to search Garak’s body for similar signs, but to his relief he couldn’t see any. If anything the Cardassian looked better than Bashir had ever seen him. He looked very healthy and more than a little aroused. _The hot climate must be pleasurable for him, and he’s obviously taken good care of himself_ , Bashir thought, feeling slightly envious. Of course Garak hadn’t been alone, left behind with the lie that all his friends had died. The sudden flare of anger accompanying that thought was startling, but Bashir wasn’t in the mood to analyze his feelings. He became aware that Garak was still watching him, probably waiting for Bashir to join him. For Garak that seemed uncharacteristically patient, considerate even. Strangely enough it made Bashir even angrier.

He moved onto the bed and straddling Garak’s hips, he leaned forward until he could nuzzle against Garak’s neck. He breathed in deeply, before he again gave in to impulse and bit down hard.

Bashir had been attentive enough not to choose Garak’s scarred neckridge. That would have been unnecessarily cruel, but Garak’s startled yelp still held a note of pain underneath the surprise. Bashir thought he liked the sound; he refused to think about why. Instead he straightened again, his hands resting on Garak’s shoulders as much for support as the need to pin the Cardassian down. Again he looked at Garak. It was gratifying to see the understanding in the Cardassian’s eyes now that had been missing before. It did nothing to pacify Bashir’s anger, though.

“You’re angry,” Garak said, stating the obvious.

The remark wasn’t worth an answer, Bashir decided. “I thought you were dead,” he said again, emphasizing each word. “They told me you were dead, and I tried to grieve, but most of the time I was too scared.”

Garak only stared up at him; his gaze held Bashir’s unwaveringly. He didn’t say anything, neither that it hadn’t been his decision, nor did he make any attempt to placate Bashir’s inner turmoil. His expression wasn’t overly sympathetic, which was a wise choice.

Bashir in turn waited, poised somewhere between his anger and arousal, waited for Garak to say something to make this right and welcome.

“You’re safe with me, Bashir,” Garak said at last.

Bashir considered the statement for a moment. He decided he could work with that.


	7. Chapter 7

Vulcan, T’Karath

Garak woke up, feeling cold, tired, and more than a little disoriented. Maybe it was the presence of someone else in his bed, maybe it was something else. He wasn’t sure. The fact remained that he had slept abysmally. Sitting up, he looked down at Bashir, who was still sleeping, lying on his stomach and hogging most of the covers. The way he had managed to entangle himself in them looked slightly ridiculous.

Yesterday had been a day full of surprises. First Bashir’s sudden arrival had been completely unexpected. Although Garak and Kira had pushed for Bashir’s transfer to T’Karath practically from the first day they had arrived here, T’Pel had stalled their requests again and again. Then without any forewarning she’d literally dropped the Human in their midst. Garak wondered what might have precipitated Bashir’s sudden arrival. Obviously something must’ve gone wrong, but Garak had no idea what. Whatever the cause, he felt eminently satisfied to have Bashir back with them.

Bashir’s anger had taken Garak by surprise, too. While he had been worried about Bashir, first about his bare survival, later his precarious position as a bone of contention between Vulcan and the Federation, Garak hadn’t given much thought how the situation might have affected Bashir emotionally. Bashir, though, had made quickly brought his point across. He had seemed so desperate to find an outlet for all his accumulated anger and frustration. Garak had been utterly fascinated by the resulting heady mix of aggression and arousal.

In hindsight Garak understood Bashir all too well. Garak, Kira and Pavale had been safe here in T’Karath. Nonetheless the slowly worsening political situation and the uncertainty about how everything would play out in the end had left the three of them feeling increasingly restless as the days passed. Bashir had been told that he was the lone survivor of their group; it must’ve been a terrifying experience for him. No wonder he had been angry.

Garak had almost told Bashir off, not because Garak had any issues with rough play, but letting oneself go like that was something you simply didn’t do. No self-respecting Cardassian would behave like that, at least not in Garak’s book. Bashir, however, wasn’t a Cardassian. He was a Human, which meant he could be utterly reasonable one moment, everything about him making perfect sense to Garak, only to do or say something a moment later that left Garak speechless.

Watching Bashir searching for some way, any way, to deal with his emotions had reminded Garak of how different they were. He had never been particularly interested in alien psychology, apart from the bits of it he needed as part of his profession. He had only started taking a closer look at the subject when he had been forced to transfer to Terok Nor. He had done nothing more than dabble. It had been something to pass the time in his long and mostly solitary off-time hours. A certain Bajoran officer, one Major Kira Nerys, had been his preferred object of study at the time.

Lately Garak’s focus had shifted to Bashir. Garak had stared at him yesterday evening, trying to decipher what Bashir wanted. Then he had decided he really wasn’t in the mood, and instead of giving Bashir a well-deserved lesson in self-control, Garak had simply lain back and relaxed. He hadn’t regretted it.

Reaching out, he gave Bashir’s shoulder a slight shove. Garak wanted company, preferably company that was conscious. He suspected that Bashir might react with a certain amount of contrition. The prospect sounded amusing as it promised an entertaining morning.

Bashir reacted to Garak’s shove with nothing more than a tensing of his shoulders. Briefly Garak wondered how many times he had shaken the Human awake during the last months. _Far too often_ , he thought. Changing tack, Garak leaned down. Bashir’s face was buried in his pillow, but his shoulders presented a variety of possibilities to coax him into wakefulness.

It took quite a while. Garak was almost ready to resort to more drastic measures, but finally Bashir came awake. At first he slowly blinked at Garak, who in turn looked back, intent on catching Bashir’s first reaction. Garak was slightly disappointed when Bashir showed no signs of embarrassment. Instead he sat up and leaned close. Encircling Garak’s waist, Bashir pulled him even closer. Quickly kissing Garak’s jaw, Bashir settled his head on Garak’s shoulder, obviously comfortable to just hold him.

“Morning,” Bashir murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep. “That was a bit of a… surprise. I hadn’t thought you had it in you.”

Garak thought that was more than a slight understatement. He didn’t say so, however, but settled on making a non-committal sound, hoping it would prompt Bashir into elaborating. It didn’t take long.

“You being so deliciously submissive,” Bashir went ahead helpfully.

Garak hackles rose immediately. The impudent whelp! He tensed, pushing Bashir back until Garak could look him in the eye, intent on giving Bashir the stern lecture Garak had withheld before.

Bashir’s eyes were full of barely suppressed laughter as he smiled at Garak, looking nothing like the troubled creature from yesterday evening. He looked utterly carefree and content.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” Garak replied grudgingly. Those weren’t the words he had intended to say but truth to be told, he had very much enjoyed last night, even if this reversal of roles hadn’t been his plan. Again closing the distance between them, he embraced Bashir again. “And by the way, I hadn’t thought you had it in you either,” he said, intentionally mirroring Bashir’s words before he added, “It was a pleasurable surprise, a bit strenuous in certain areas, but overall quite enjoyable.”

He felt Bashir chuckle. Then Garak’s stomach growled.

“Come on, let’s have a quick shower. I’m sure Kira and Pavale are already waiting for us,” Garak said.

***

Somehow their breakfast turned into a drawn-out and leisurely affair. As Garak expected, Kira and Pavale had already been waiting for them, commandeering a table in the canteen that they’d practically laden with some of the more palatable food the Vulcans had on offer. Briefly Garak wondered if they thought Bashir had been starving. He shook his head in amusement. Kira and Pavale certainly had never shown any inclination of pampering him like that, but then he wouldn’t have allowed it either.

After he and Bashir had greeted the two women and sat down, they ate in silence for a while. Even Bashir, who was practically brimming with impatience and curiosity, followed their unspoken agreement. Once his basic hunger was sated, though, he obviously couldn’t wait any longer, launching into his account of the last three weeks. He told them about the hospital and being told about their deaths. He didn’t hold back in describing how alone and defeated he had felt.

Garak watched as both Kira’s and Pavale’s expressions grew soft at hearing of Bashir’s despair. Garak wasn’t completely successful in suppressing his involuntary snort. It earned him a pair of vicious glares from both women. Bashir simply ignored him, which Garak found the most intriguing if slightly annoying reaction. Bashir’s account got more interesting when he came to his time at the Ministry of Security, the role T’Pel had played as well as his meeting with Captain La Forge.

Garak was downright alarmed when Bashir mentioned Sloan and a representative of the Dominion. Back here at T’Karath T’Pel had been their only reliable source of information about what was going on in the capital and, on a larger scale, between the Federation and the Vulcans. Since she had been away during the last days they’d heard almost nothing. They hadn’t known about any investigation. It made sense though.

As Bashir spoke about the disappearance of the Dominion’s envoy, and Minister Satok’s ploy of getting rid of Bashir, Garak began to appreciate the full extent of what Bashir had gone through since they’d gotten separated. Garak watched the young man carefully while Bashir retold the events of the last day. How Bashir had felt like a more than unwilling participant in the final act of a play whose outcome might be deadly for him.

Garak had a hard time suppressing a chuckle. Who would have thought that the Vulcans were capable of pulling off such a stunt? Bashir wasn’t much off the mark when he described the minister’s actions as staging a drama, though it sounded more like a dark comedy or a farce to Garak. Maybe later Bashir would be able to see the humor of the situation once he had managed to put some distance between those events and himself.

That left Sloan. Garak was really tired of the man. He seemed to be popping up again and again, like an already bad joke that didn’t get better by telling it more than once. On second thought, though, he had to place the Dominion’s envoy, a Founder no less, much higher on his personal list of immediate threats. A Founder, hiding among the Vulcan population, posing as one of them, was a serious problem. He wondered how good the V’Shar was at ousting such an infiltrator. For a while he got lost in his own speculations before a question from Bashir brought him back to their conversation.

“What I don’t understand,” Bashir said, “is why we were separated in the first place. I mean, why were you brought here while I was brought to ShiKahr? Wouldn’t things have been much easier if they’d kept us together? They surely would’ve avoided a lot of public attention, not to mention the necessity of dealing with demands of extradition by the Dominion _and_ the Federation.” He looked at them expectantly, but before Garak or one of the others could answer another voice cut in.

“If I may explain?” The question came from T’Pel.

Garak hadn’t noticed her walking up to them, but then he had been occupied with other things than scanning their surroundings. With some shuffling and moving of chairs they made room for the Vulcan, exchanging polite greetings.

T’Pel didn’t spend any time with niceties. “In fact, I’m probably best equipped to answer most of your questions about recent and not so recent events,” she said to Bashir. “The decision to take you to ShiKahr wasn’t made lightly. We might’ve chosen to mislead the Vulcan public as well as you about your companions’ deaths. However, there was a very real risk that you would’ve died because of the trauma you suffered during the crash had we chosen to take you to T’Karath instead of ShiKahr. Our base here is well equipped, but we don’t have the first-rate medical facilities our capital can offer.”

For a second Garak was confused, not so much by her words, those were old news to him, but by her tone. There was something slightly off in the way T’Pel had addressed Bashir. She appeared… gentler somehow. He wondered if she felt slightly guilty about the charade she and Minister Satok had played. Her demeanor was a far cry from the stern and authoritative persona she had adopted when dealing with himself or Kira.

Garak saw Bashir’s expression growing concerned. He was looking at Garak and Kira, a frown on his face, clearly worried by what he had just heard. Kira reacted first. Stretching out her hand and lightly patting his arm, she said, “It was really touch and go for you, but believe me, we clamored to get you out of there the second they told us you would make it.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

“And you were quite irritating in your demands,” T’Pel threw in. The way she looked at Kira made it very clear that anyone lesser than a Vulcan easily might’ve given in to the temptation of ridding themselves of said irritation and being done with it.

Kira frowned in response, but didn’t comment.

Garak decided that now might be a good time to shift their conversation to more pressing matters. “I’m sure there are still a lot of stories to be told, but right now I have only one question. What happens next?” he asked, focusing all his attention on T’Pel. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bashir looking slightly annoyed while Kira gave him a silent nod and Pavale set down the tea she’d been sipping and leaned forward.

T’Pel visibly straightened, folding her hands in front of her on the table’s surface. When she answered she was all authority again. “With your team finally assembled,” She slightly bowed her head as she looked at Kira. “And the _Scarab’s_ repairs almost completed, our next steps are clear. Our original plan still stands. We need a suitable window of opportunity to get the _Scarab_ safely off Vulcan, and we have to ensure that you make it through the wormhole. If we accomplish that, the last part of it will be up to you.” Again she looked at Kira.

Garak watched as the two women exchanged a long look, not for the first time wishing he had any way of being privy to either one’s thoughts.

T’Pel’s words caused a long silence as everyone contemplated the sheer enormity of the tasks she had laid out for them. The silence was finally broken by Pavale who, with perfect timing, chose this moment to treat them to another display of her barbed humor.

“So, we’re finally back to the business of heroically achieving the impossible,” she said, giving them all a slow smile before focusing on T’Pel. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve long ago made my peace with this, but I’d like to make one thing perfectly clear. Once we accomplish what we’re setting out to do, I expect nothing less than a statue in my honor, and make it a big one.” She raised an eyebrow, her face as stoic as any Vulcan’s.

Then she started to laugh, and it was infectious, the idea of them being given some sort of statue in their honor being slightly bittersweet but also completely out of place and ridiculous. Their table erupted into laughter and once they had started, they couldn’t stop until they not only had T’Pel’s undivided attention, but that of a good portion of the other Vulcans present, who were throwing them curious and irritated looks at their group’s blatant display of merriment.

***

A while later Kira was giving Bashir a tour through T’Karath. Her mind and body thrummed with nervous energy. The last weeks of their forced waiting in T’Karath had been a harsh lesson in patience for her. She’d felt so powerless and helpless. The realization had stung, and it had driven her to act and react in ways that were out of character for her.

She had offered to give Bashir this tour to help familiarize him with the base. It would be a good outlet to alleviate some of her restlessness. It would be an equally good opportunity to get him alone so she could question him more thoroughly about some of the events in ShiKahr.

She’d almost regretted her offer when T’Pel had asked Garak to come to her office, telling him she wanted to discuss some of the new developments concerning the continued presence of a Federation representative in the capital as well as the alarming disappearance of the Dominion’s envoy. At second thought, though, Kira had decided it would probably be better to let the two of them first discuss the whole situation to their hearts’ content before Kira got involved in the discussion. She’d discovered that while Garak and T’Pel both displayed a certain amount of guardedness toward each other, they also displayed a striking, as well as slightly alarming, likeness in how their minds worked. Their discussion invariably reminded her of Trenn. The Romulan security chief of the _Dagger_ had displayed the same predilection for secrets and schemes.

Standing right outside the canteen, she turned to Bashir and said, “Come on, let’s start with the _Scarab._ We might even get a chance to watch Pavale in her natural habitat”

Initially Pavale had planned to accompany them on their tour, much to Kira’s disappointment. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy Pavale’s company, but she wanted to talk with Bashir alone. Fortunately a Vulcan engineer had appeared at their table, telling Pavale that the _Scarab’s_ test results were finally ready, and he would like to show them to her. His words had caused her to scramble to her feet, hastily excusing herself from Kira and Bashir before she’d ushered the Vulcan out of the room.

Kira led Bashir deep into the maze of corridors that made up T’Karath’s infrastructure. Early on she’d gotten lost in here frequently, but by now she thought she could navigate the corridors blindfolded if necessary, especially the way leading to the _Scarab’s_ hangar.

“The _Scarab_ was in very bad shape when it arrived here,” she told Bashir as they walked. “But T’Pel has got some really brilliant people working on her _,_ and these were Pavale’s words, by the way.” She flashed a grin at Bashir, who grinned back. “While there are still minor repairs going on, our little dung beetle is probably in a better shape now than she was when we stole her in the first place.”

They arrived in a large room full of shelves of technical equipment. Kira stopped here, turning toward Bashir. He had spent most of their walk staring at their surroundings with eyes full of curiosity. Now he turned his attention solely on her, waiting for her to continue, giving her the trademark look of serious eagerness he so often wore. She smiled, realizing how much she’d gotten used to that look. How much she had missed it during his absence.

Pointing toward a door behind her, she said, “Through there is the _Scarab_. I wager you won’t be able to guess how they’ve gotten her in there, but should you come up with the right answer, I’ll owe you one.” She grinned at him and the look he gave her in return was so full of boyish anticipation she grinned even wider. With a wave she motioned him to follow her as she stepped through the door.

It was a spectacular sight. Even though it wasn’t new to Kira, she enjoyed it anew every time. Having a slightly gawping Bashir at her side made it even better. They had entered a very large cavern hewn out of the sheer rock, big enough to house a ship as large as the _Scarab,_ even if it was something of a tight fit.

The overall effect was astonishing, especially considering that the cavern seemed to have no other entry or exit than the set of doors she and Bashir had come in through. It created the impression that the cavern had been somehow built _around_ the _Scarab,_ which of course couldn’t be, but it looked like that nonetheless.

“Well?” she asked, giving Bashir a sideways glance while they both looked at the fighter, towering in front of them, its dimensions appearing even larger because of its slightly cramped accommodations.

“They beamed her in!” Bashir exclaimed in awe, shaking his head in wonder.

“Too much geomagnetic interference. Parachutes, remember?” Kira answered. “Think again.”

He turned to her, a frown on his face. “There’s no other way,” he replied incredulously.

Pointedly she raised her eyes to the ceiling.

“It’s retractable?” he asked, sounding even more incredulous, giving the ceiling a look of disbelief.

She nodded and beamed at him in open delight. “Impressive, isn’t it? And to think they created all this in the last few years.”

Bashir looked puzzled at her words, once again looking around the cavern. “But this place looks old. What do you mean by a few years?”

“Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the complex, while I explain.” Kira answered. “We only have limited access of course.” She rolled her eyes. “What I _can_ show you is impressive enough, however.”

Leaving the cavern, she took him back to the central atrium where they had met the day before. This time she made sure to point out to him how he could find his way back to the hangar on his own. “T’Karath, as this place is called, is an ancient sanctuary. Its history reaches far back into Vulcan’s ancient past. It’s a place that is connected both to Mount Seleya not too far from here and to Surak. It had been a place of meditation and prayer for thousands of years, but it had been abandoned for over a century when the V’Shar came here.” She looked at him questioningly. He was Federation, so he should understand.

He nodded affirmatively. “Vulcan history isn’t a mandatory study subject at Starfleet Academy, but I… dabbled, so I understand the significance,” he said softly, looking slightly awed.

They stepped out into the atrium, and she paused, giving Bashir the opportunity to look around again, letting him get his bearings. Though it was still relatively early in the morning, the temperatures were already rising. It wouldn’t be advisable to stay outside for too long, but she doubted that he had noticed much yesterday. She wanted to give him the chance of appreciating the place, its stark beauty as well as its ingenious design. The sight was remarkable. The sanctuary’s structure was nestled deep inside the rocky basin, surrounding them with steep walls and cliffs.

“Why did the V’Shar choose such a remote place as headquarters?” Bashir asked.

“Can’t you guess?” she asked back but didn’t wait for an answer. “They established this base four years ago. That was two years after the first Pact of Non-Aggression between the Federation and the Dominion. I’d wager that the base’s establishment was a direct result of it. I think they saw it coming. Maybe not all the details, mind you, but enough of it that they decided a far off place, a place to retreat to should things get rough, was a logical choice.”

They stood in silence for a while until Kira spoke up again, “Come on, let’s head back inside. I think it’s time you answer some of _my_ questions. You said you’ve met that bastard Sloan again, and somehow I imagine you haven’t told us all there was to that encounter.” She saw him wince at her words. Impulsively she linked her arm through his and said, “You’re with us, now, Julian. Don’t worry, you’re safe here, and whatever happens from now on, I’ll make dead sure that we don’t get separated again.”

***

Vulcan, ShiKahr

Sloan was furious. He had been played. He was sure of it. That damn minister and his aide had played him and though the whole situation had felt more than a little fishy, he had allowed it to happen.

The moment Satok had oh so nonchalantly offered him the phaser, Sloan should’ve just gotten up and walked away, but he had been far too fascinated by what was happening to do that. Here Sloan was, an officially appointed investigator of the Federation and before him sat no one less, than the Vulcan Minister of Security and Head of the V’Shar, who was politely offering him the opportunity to execute a defector and known terrorist right in the minister’s office.

Reality seemed to shift, turning off-kilter and throwing him a rude look. This wasn’t how Vulcans behaved. Oh, he knew that they were far away from being the paragon of morality and ethics they normally presented themselves to be, but downright murder? Sloan had trouble believing it.

The fully charged phaser, however, had told him how wrong he might be. It had been only a second, but for that instant he had actually flirted with the idea of shooting Bashir right then and there. It certainly would rid him of a problem that had been bothering him for a while. Then he thought about all the surveillance equipment hidden in the minister’s office, security equipment that would record Sloan shooting an unarmed man. It would be irrelevant that the man was guilty. That’s what trials were for. Shooting someone without a trial was considered bad form, at least if you shot him with witnesses around. So he had told Satok to take care of it himself.

A soft beeping, coming from his communications terminal, alerted him to an incoming transmission. Standing up from his bed, he sat down in front of the screen. He knew who was calling him. He didn’t look forward to this particular conversation. The connection established itself slowly, no doubt due to the heavy encryption they were using, but after a minute or so Admiral Ross’ features took shape.

“Sloan!” the admiral bellowed. “I’ve just spent over an hour talking to some pompous Vorta, pestering me about the Vulcans’ obvious inability to cooperate with the Dominion’s investigations. It might come as a surprise to you, but that wasn’t the outcome I envisioned when I sent you there!”

Inwardly Sloan sighed. Yes, that was more or less what he had expected, though it was unusual for the admiral to resort to yelling. Normally the man had better self-control.

“Admiral,” he began, settling on his most respectful and professional tone. “There have been quite a lot of developments on Vulcan. Some of them might already be common knowledge, but others are still limited to a very select circle of people. Please allow me to explain the details.” He gave Ross a calm, yet attentive look, making sure to bleed a slight note of eagerness into it, as if he was really looking forward to report to the admiral.

Ross sighed tiredly. “Get on with it, will you?” he replied.

“Very well, Admiral. As is so often the case, the situation here on Vulcan is far more complex than it appears from the outside.” Sloan held up a hand, stalling any comment from the admiral at this point. “I know it’s a platitude, but please bear with me.”

He continued by giving the admiral a short summary of his findings as well as the latest events on Vulcan. He refrained from offering any speculation on his part, sticking closely to the bare facts, knowing full well that Ross would ask for Sloan’s thoughts later when it was time to formulate their own strategy to deal with the current situation.

It took him no more than fifteen minutes to bring Ross up to speed. After Sloan had finished he patiently waited while Ross processed what he had just been told.

“So let’s see if I’ve got this right,” the admiral finally said. “The V’Shar offered you the chance to kill that defector. You refused but told them to just go ahead. Explain.”

Sloan smiled sardonically. While Ross had thought about Sloan’s report, Sloan had made a wager with himself which specific event the admiral would pick out first for dissection. Bashir’s ‘accident’ had been Sloan’s first choice, the Founder’s disappearance the runner-up. It was gratifying to hear that he hadn’t lost his touch.

“To put it bluntly, Admiral, when Minister Satok told me the V’Shar wanted to get rid of Bashir his fate was already decided. At that point I could’ve told them that I’d rather see the minister jump out of the window. The result would’ve been the same,” Sloan replied rather flippantly. “I hope you didn’t expect me to shoot Bashir myself.”

Ross shook his head. “Of course not. So, Bashir is gone for good,” he stated.

Sloan nodded. “Yes, Admiral, one way or the other he disappeared into Vulcan’s vast deserts, possibly as a burnt corpse.”

“Possibly?”

“The evidence I was shown was good. I got a 100% match on Bashir’s DNA, but the Vulcan deserts are a vast and strange place. You can hide a lot there, and evidence can be faked. You just have to be good enough, so you won’t get caught. We have no way of discovering the truth right now. Maybe later once we’ve brought Vulcan to heel…,” Sloan answered. He wanted to ask Ross when the Federation Council would finally come to their senses and deal with the Vulcans properly, but he decided that now was the wrong time for that question.

Ross didn’t reply. He simply looked at Sloan, his eyes slightly narrowed as if he was silently searching for the hidden flaw in Sloan’s explanation. Obviously he couldn’t find one, because his next question sounded decidedly cross.

“What about that Founder?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, Admiral. I can’t guess what his plans are. Obviously he will try to gain further information on the Vulcans as well as the terrorists and how the two are possibly linked. I have no information as to his whereabouts, and I’m more than doubtful that the V’Shar will share any useful information with me. To be honest, right now the Founder appears to be a dead end, at least for the moment and until there are further developments,” Sloan answered.

“So that’s why you’re still on Vulcan? Hoping that something will happen to let you in on the game again?” Ross asked.

Sometimes the admiral was rather thick, Sloan thought. “No, Admiral, don’t forget about the captains of the _Hera_ and the _T’Kumbra_. They are about to be transferred to Starfleet’s HQ here on Vulcan. For the time being, they seem the most promising option for gaining more information.”

Ross was silent for a moment. “That’ll be Captain La Forge and Captain Solok.” He paused. “I don’t think you’re going to have much luck with them, certainly not with Solok. I know him personally, Vulcan through and though. La Forge, however, might be an option. I don’t know her, only her file.” Again he fell silent. Then he nodded, more to himself than to Sloan. “Very well, Sloan. You have my permission to continue with your proposed line of inquiry. Make sure you keep me apprised regularly, understood?”

“Of course, Admiral,” Sloan practically snapped, every inch the perfect subordinate. He closed the connection, then double-checked that it was definitely cut before he muttered, “What a pompous ass.”

***

Vulcan, T’Karath

Garak followed T’Pel to her office. He had been surprised at Kira’s offer to show Bashir around, surprised and faintly disconcerted. He couldn’t help but suspect some ulterior motive behind her offer, though he wasn’t exactly sure what that might be. He had almost intervened, only reining himself in at the last second, startled by his own emotional reaction and the unmistakable feeling of protectiveness toward Bashir. This definitely wouldn’t do. _Most likely, she just wants to question him about what has happened in ShiKahr_ , he thought. _And you should have done the same yesterday evening, but instead you indulged yourself by fooling around in bed, you old fool._ He sighed. Sometimes he despised his own voice of reason.

Looking at T’Pel, he saw that she was giving him a questioning look. In lieu of an answer he simply shook his head, giving her a look of reassurance in return. He would remedy his behavior, he decided. In truth it wasn’t as if there was some kind of competition for information between him and Kira. It was more of a habitual thing for him, a deeply ingrained urge to treat any information as a means for gaining power – a precious commodity that needed channeling and controlling and that should be given and withheld according to his rules. That was how it had been in the Obsidian Order and as Bashir had told him, although under quite different circumstances, old habits die hard.

Once he and T’Pel had settled themselves in her office, she came directly to the point. “This can’t go on for very much longer,” she stated, an unusually opaque remark for her, though Garak was sure he knew where she was heading.

“Yes, I was wondering which kinds of reactions your fatal accident created. I imagine the Federation wasn’t exactly pleased about it,” Garak answered.

T’Pel looked at him “A thorough investigation has already taken place. So far Sloan hasn’t been able to find any fault in the evidence we’ve presented him with,” she stated drily, sounding as if she was citing some kind of officially issued statement. “But the Federation is the lesser of our problems. The ruse we used in dealing with Sloan worked well enough. Presently he’s eagerly awaiting the transfer of the Starfleet officers of the _Hera_ and _T’Kumbra_ to Starfleet’s HQ on Vulcan. Until now they’ve been held by Vulcan authorities, but we can’t stall Starfleet’s request in that matter any longer.

“The Vulcan government has issued a formal protest with the Dominion concerning the continued presence of their envoy on Vulcan. So far the Dominion hasn’t bothered to respond. Their official line remains that the envoy is already safely back in the Gamma Quadrant. Fortunately we’ve been able to locate the Dominion’s envoy after he supposedly left Vulcan. He was careless and a security camera caught him only yesterday. He had assumed the identity of an analyst working at the Ministry of Security, an analyst, I might add, whose corpse was accidentally discovered before he miraculously appeared on our cameras.”

“Have you shared this information with anyone? The Federation or the Dominion?” Garak asked.

T’Pel simply raised an eyebrow, but the gesture spoke volumes. He almost heard her voice asking him just what kind of fool he thought her to be.

“So, you’re hoping that he will continue using that identity. It would certainly be helpful if you plan to control his access to information and possibly feed him some of your own choice.”

This time T’Pel nodded, looking slightly mollified that he was obviously following her own reasoning. She remained silent for a moment as if to collect her thoughts. When she continued there was the slightest hint of frustration in her voice. “We can only speculate what the Founder’s motives might be, but we should expect the worst. At least knowing where he is enables us to manipulate the situation, but should he somehow manage to discover information about our base here, there are two very real risks.

“There’s the danger of disclosure, which would put our government in an intolerable situation. Secondly he might try to sabotage our plans. We have excellent security measures here at T’Karath, but we’re not prepared to deal with an infiltration-attempt by a Founder. Both possibilities are unacceptable, and I intend to take preventive action.”

“You’re going to set up a trap.” Garak stated, convinced he knew what was coming next and dreading it.

“Exactly, and I want you to play the bait,” she deadpanned.

“What?” he exclaimed.

 _That one_ he hadn’t seen coming. He felt slightly embarrassed by his unguarded reaction, but it was too late to feel sorry now. He had been sure that she planned to use Bashir as bait. Garak wasn’t particularly happy with the idea of placing Bashir in danger, but at least he could see the reasoning behind such a move. Bashir’s survival of the shuttle crash was something the Founder might already be suspecting anyway. They wouldn’t give him any information that was terribly revealing, at least not in comparison to the alternative T’Pel had just proposed.

Playing the bait himself, though, would be quite another game. Garak had no intention of going along with this, not without a very good reason. He took a deep breath before he asked in a much calmer voice, “How will revealing my presence on Vulcan help us? Why do you believe I’m the most suitable bait? I hope you have more compelling reasons than simply complicating my life.” He couldn’t resist the jibe at the end, even though he was sure she would repay him in full.

Unsurprisingly T’Pel’s eyebrow went up again. “Let me assure you that I have no particular interest in your personal life. I hope you’re not… _disappointed_ to hear that my focus rests on other more pressing matters. I have no time pondering what might make your life easier or more complicated, and from what I’ve heard Bashir is filling that role admirably,” she said, her face completely unreadable.

Garak gave her a thin-lipped smile in response. Not for the first time he wondered if there was a Cardassian hiding somewhere in T’Pel’s ancestry. It would explain so much, most importantly why he was sure she couldn’t be trusted even though he enjoyed her company immensely.

“I think you’re the perfect bait for the Founder,” T’Pel continued when it became clear that he wasn’t going to reply to her last words. “I’m counting on the fact that his hate for your people will lure him into acting. I’m aware that Bashir couldn’t tell you much about him. I, however, have quite extensive information about him. He calls himself Odo Ital.”

For the second time Garak lost his composure, unable to stop himself from flinching.

T’Pel, who had watched him closely, nodded, obviously satisfied with his reaction. “Yes, I expected that name would sound familiar to you,” she continued. “Correct me if I’m wrong. According to my sources this particular Founder was discovered by your people some years ago. At first you dropped him with the Bajorans, obviously content to let them figure him out. It wasn’t until the discovery of the first wormhole in the Denorios belt, and your people’s first contact with the Dominion, that you arrested him.

“He was interrogated… quite harshly it seems, although I have no precise information on the details. What I do know for certain is that those interrogations were conducted by the Obsidian Order, and the person in charge of those interrogations was you, wasn’t it Garak?” She gave him a sharp look. “I’d really like to know what exactly you did to that Founder to cause such intense hatred for your people in him. Are you aware that he was a driving force behind the Dominion’s claim of Cardassia Prime as their protectorate?”

Not giving him the time to answer her last question, if indeed it had been a question, she continued, “I believe that if he learns of your presence on Vulcan, say in a secret hideout somewhere in our vast deserts, he will come after you. Once we have him out here, we have the perfect opportunity to neutralize him, and since we all know that the Dominion’s envoy is safely back in the Gamma Quadrant, no one will openly inquire about his fate.”

Garak didn’t know how to answer. He most certainly wouldn’t give her any further information on Odo’s interrogations back on Cardassia. As uncomfortable as he had been listening to her veiled accusations as well as her reasoning, he couldn’t deny that her plan had its merits. He had indeed played an important part in the Founder’s initial interrogations. It had been a somewhat nasty business, but it was part of his trade, and if anything, Garak had always prided himself on his professionalism.

He had been relieved from that task before finishing it, because Tain had wanted him for something even more important. Garak clearly remembered how annoyed he had been. He hated to leave a job half-finished. He had given a recommendation to his successor to apply stronger methods. Then he had visited Odo a last time, informing him about the change as well as Garak’s advice. He had seen the fear and despair in Odo’s eyes, and Garak had left, his mind already preoccupied with his new responsibilities.

He had no illusions about the extent of Odo’s hatred for him, a hatred that might cause the Founder to act hastily and foolishly even. Garak knew that his successor in Odo’s interrogations had wasted no time in following Garak’s recommendation. Back then he had felt a certain amount of satisfaction about it, even if it had turned out that Odo had obviously told them the truth when he insisted he knew nothing about the Dominion or the people who called themselves the Founders.

Odo would come after him. Garak was certain of it. On a purely rational level he could endorse T’Pel’s plan unreservedly. What he loathed about it, however, was his role as bait. He had no qualms about taking a personal risk, but he felt that he had done his share when he had been the involuntary lure in one of Trenn’s hare-brained schemes. He thought back to his capture and imprisonment at Starfleet’s HQ on Bajor. It had been those events that had finally convinced him that it was time to get rid of Trenn.

It might not be entirely rational, but Garak felt he had already done his share in the field of heroics. He didn’t voice his misgivings, though. He only asked, “What are the alternatives?”

T’Pel slowly shook her head, saying, “There are none. Yes, we could try capturing the Founder in the capital, but that would draw far too much attention, and we can’t be sure we’ll succeed. We want to neutralize Odo as fast as possible, so _you_ are our best and only choice.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Frankly I don’t understand your reservations. Helping us to get rid of Odo is the best way of ensuring that he won’t be on board the _Scarab_ when you finally leave.

“Think what kind of havoc a hidden Founder could cause aboard your ship. Helping us will also enable you to deal with one of the Founders personally responsible for the recent wanton devastation of Cardassia Prime. Lastly, helping us will allow you to get rid of one of the skeletons in your closet.” There was the hint of a smile on her face as she said it. “It’s a Human expression I’ve always liked for its aptness. The phrase refers to secrets or memories of our past we’ve hidden away. I’m sure everyone has one or two, but in our profession our closets tend to get a bit crowded over time. See this as a chance to make room in your closet, Garak.”

He felt like sighing. ‘ _Why is it always me?’_ he wanted to ask, but her last appeal had finally won him over, her mention of the possibility that Odo could infiltrate the _Scarab_ a particularly chilling thought. Fighting against his feeling of dread, he said, “Regrettably I see your point. Just let me get a couple of things straight: I’m not going to play the willing sacrifice. You’re going to involve me in your plan. You’re going to share all the information you have, and most importantly you’re going to make absolutely sure that it’s Odo and not me who gets neutralized. Otherwise I’m out of it, clear?”

T’Pel looked at him, her expression solemn. “Crystal clear,” she said.

***

“I knew it was a mistake to leave the two of you alone together!” Kira exclaimed, looking at Garak and T’Pel. The two of them stared back at her impassively, although Garak wasn’t quite as successful as T’Pel.

After giving Bashir a tour through the base, he and Kira had been accosted by Pavale, who had dragged them back to the _Scarab_ , stating she needed their help. Upon arrival Kira soon discovered that the Romulan had once again managed to irritate her crew of Vulcan engineers and technicians to the brink of open mutiny. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, and like on the earlier occasions Pavale expected Kira to calm the waves. It had puzzled Kira why Pavale and the Vulcans were so bad at working together.

The problem hadn’t shown itself during their first few days at T’Karath, but within a week Pavale had developed an unerring knack of setting the Vulcans who worked with her on edge. Kira had been puzzled what might be the reason. On board the _Scarab_ they’d never had a similar problem with Pavale. It took Kira a while, but finally she saw it.

There was a marked difference in the way Pavale behaved around Kira and Garak, and the way she acted around the Vulcans at T’Karath. It looked as if Pavale couldn’t decide on her approach toward them. Sometimes she acted like her normal self, but at other times it looked almost as if she was trying to blend in, to act like a Vulcan, and of course she failed.

The result was an unpredictability in her behavior that was almost painful to watch. To make matters worse, the Vulcans seemed to have the same difficulties in treating Pavale. Their behavior ranged from treating her as one of their own and treating her with barely veiled coldness. _She’s the slightly embarrassing relative that has descended upon the rest of the family, and now everyone flounders to find the right way of dealing with her,_ Kira thought with some amusement.

Inexplicably Kira’s presence seemed to alleviate the problem. Pavale tended to be far less inclined to ‘go Vulcan’ when Kira was around, and most of the Vulcans fell back to a variety of their default neutral politeness. _Maybe it’s the presence of a real alien_ , Kira speculated, _an alien who has the courtesy of not using camouflage to look like a Vulcan_. She grinned at the thought.

In the end she and Bashir had stayed with Pavale far longer than Kira had intended. The day practically flew by as they went over the fighter’s systems, and watching Pavale in her element was a pleasure in itself. Kira felt slightly restless, but she reassured herself that there were definitely few other things more important than getting the _Scarab_ back to full functionality.

The whole day there was no sign of Garak or T’Pel. As the evening drew near, Kira finally decided to see what those two might’ve come up with in their discussions. While she had come to the conclusion that letting Garak and T’Pel sort things out on their own was a good idea and most likely better for Kira’s nerves, since listening to the two of them always made her head hurt after a while – all this scheming and plotting and speculating about other people’s motives and actions really wasn’t her kind of thing – she had thought about the two of them repeatedly over the course of the day.

Now Kira was finally sitting in T’Pel’s office with Garak at her side and T’Pel on the other side of her desk. Kira had just heard the first outline of what they were planning. She felt ready to give them a good shake by the neck. Consciously reining in her rising temper, she said, “Getting the _Scarab_ ready for flight, finding a way to get her safely off the planet and then trying to get her to the Gamma Quadrant – that’s what we should be planning, not traipsing around the Vulcan desert in a desperate attempt to catch some shapeshifter on the loose.” Kira looked back and forth between the other two, trying to gauge if her words had left any impression. Judging by their looks she wasn’t sure.

“Kira, it’s too much of a risk to let the Dominion’s envoy _stay_ on the loose. Imagine the consequences if it becomes known how far Vulcan is involved in this operation. Imagine the consequences if he finds out about T’Karath and your presence here,” T’Pel answered.

To Kira’s frustration Garak joined in, “As much as I regret doing so I have to agree with T’Pel. We have to eliminate the threat this Founder poses. Yes, it involves new risks, and yes, it might delay our departure, but ultimately it heightens our chances for success. Should Vulcan’s involvement be disclosed, the Federation will waste no time in enforcing their blockade.

“Getting through it will be damn near impossible for us even if we manage to restore the _Scarab’s_ cloaking to full capacity, and we both know that Pavale has been more than doubtful about that. Romulan and Vulcan technology are just not compatible enough to restore the cloaking device to its full capacity. Believe me; we have to do this, Nerys. We have to get rid of that Founder. Then we carry on with our plans.” He spoke emphatically, slightly leaning toward her.

She hated it when he acted like that, all serious and rational and almost believably honest. Grasping for straws, she settled on the one part of their plan she could easily reject without feeling contrary just on principle. “Fine, but you’re not going alone. I’m coming with you,” she stated, putting as much finality into her voice as she could.

Nonetheless the protests came immediately. “No, Nerys,” said Garak with a firm shake of his head and, “I don’t think that’s wise,” muttered T’Pel, a slight frown appearing on her face.

“My word is final,” Kira said. With a withering glare at Garak she added, “Or would you rather take Bashir with you? You know, he’s going to harass you endlessly about this if you try going alone.” As Kira had intended, that remark shut Garak up quite effectively.

T’Pel, however, was more than ready to continue arguing. “With a full complement of my best operatives ready to spring the trap, Garak won’t be exactly alone. It’s far more logical for you to stay here at T’Karath,” she said. Then she went ahead and made a fatal mistake. As if it was an afterthought, she added, “I don’t want to make it an order, but I can if necessary.”

Silence settled in the room as Kira stared at T’Pel. Kira had always respected the Vulcan’s authority on the base. She might’ve complained and squabbled with T’Pel concerning Bashir, but she had never tried to force an open confrontation. Now, however, T’Pel seemed to be under the fatal misapprehension that she had Kira’s team as much at her disposal as she had everyone else at T’Karath. The very idea made Kira instinctively dug in her heels. Her team might be small, but it was _her_ team and _her_ crew once they were back aboard the _Scarab_. This had gone far enough.

Rising to her feet, Kira said, “I see.” She looked down at T’Pel and continued, “In that case, I hope you have an alternate plan, because I _will_ stay at T’Karath while you execute it.” She glanced at Garak. “And so will he,” she finished, looking back at T’Pel.

Kira saw Garak hesitate for a moment before he rose from his chair and stepped toward her, coming to stand slightly behind her at her left shoulder. Kira saw realization slowly dawn on T’Pel’s face. She thought she saw anger, but the emotion came and went so quickly she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t misread it. Yes, T’Pel could prevent Kira from joining Garak, but she couldn’t force Garak into playing the bait.

Kira couldn’t suppress her satisfied smile, so she didn’t even try. There had been a slight flicker of doubt in her mind whether Garak would follow her lead in this. The satisfaction that he had done so was even sweeter because of it. Feeling his presence close behind her and slightly to her side was immensely comfortable and familiar. Back during their time on Terok Nor they’d often stood like this, facing down anyone who’d been foolish enough to incite their combined ire.

T’Pel’s reaction felt terribly anticlimactic. “It will be the two of you then,” she simply said. “Why don’t you sit down again, so we can discuss the whole plan?” she asked.

***

“I’m coming with you!”

Bashir’s statement rang through their room, causing Garak to pay grudging respect to Kira for her foresight, even if he still believed that the woman was acting rather foolishly in accompanying him. It wasn’t as if he had any intention of confronting Odo on his own. He had agreed to play the bait, but he had no intention of nobly sacrificing himself. He and the others still had an appointment in the Gamma Quadrant, and he was determined to keep it at all cost.

Garak tried to stay reasonable, even if he was fast growing tired of people essentially telling him he couldn’t look after himself. Then he had an idea. “No, you won’t,” he told Bashir. “And before you continue, Kira will accompany me, and I’m sure she won’t allow you to join us.” _Coward_ , he thought at his own words. _But then, what good is having a leader if you can’t hide behind her and her decisions from time to time?._ He studied the look of dismay on Bashir’s face.

“Really if it were up to me…” Garak continued, letting his words hang in the air, signaling his regret at having to bow to Kira’s authority. He got up from the bed and moved over to Bashir, who’d been pacing for the past few minutes while Garak had told him of their plans. Placing himself strategically in Bashir’s path Garak captured him around the waist, moving in for a kiss. He was pleasantly surprised how eagerly Bashir responded. Garak had expected at least some token of resistance, but obviously Bashir was less angry at Garak than he’d expected.

Bashir broke the kiss far too soon, though, and said, “Knowing that she’ll be with you is a small relief at least. She’s definitely the one who is most capable of making sure you both come out of this alive.”

Now Garak really felt offended. “Julian, I’m quite capable of protecting myself, thank you very much,” he said.

“I know, but you’re also playing the lure, which means you need to be out in the open, and that’s not exactly your favorite spot isn’t it?” Bashir answered.

It wasn’t really a question even if it had been formulated as one, and no, out in the open really wasn’t his favorite position. “You’ve come to know me quite well,” Garak said in lieu of an answer, seeing and returning the smile those words brought to Bashir’s face.

Leaning forward, he brought his mouth close to Bashir’s ear and whispered “Come to bed.”


	8. Chapter 8

Vulcan, ShiKahr

It was the feeling of someone else’s presence in his room that woke Sloan. He sat up hastily, cold sweat beading his face and neck. For a while he just sat there, motionless, intently listening, though it seemed as if his racing pulse and his wildly beating heart were drowning out all other perceptions. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he tried to calm down enough to determine what exactly had woken him.

His room was deadly quiet. T’Kuht hadn’t risen yet, and there was only dim starlight filtering through the single window. It wasn’t enough to let the room’s features stand out clearly; instead it created ominous shapes and hovering, silent shadows. Sloan squirmed, uncomfortably aware of the sweat soaked pajamas sticking to his clammy skin.

He had just come to the conclusion that it must’ve been a nightmare, forgotten now after waking up so abruptly, when out of the corner of his eye he saw something moving, something obviously alive, that made his heart rate rise again. With no weapon in reach he rolled out of his bed, dropping down beside it, intent on bringing at least some sort of cover between himself and the intruder.

He missed his dagger. For a split-second he remembered when he had lost it, seeing it buried to the hilt in Powell’s chest, the aide that had so cowardly attacked him during the terrorist attack on Starfleet’s HQ on Bajor. Sloan hadn’t gotten himself a new dagger after that. He had felt nostalgic about the one he had lost. Now he rued his sentimentality.

“Director Sloan,” a rough voice said. “There’s really no need to cower.”

It was the Dominion’s envoy. Sloan recognized the voice immediately. Pushing himself off the ground, he rose to his feet. The Founder was standing close to the door, but he couldn’t have come in that way. The door was securely locked. There wasn’t the slightest gap a shapeshifter might’ve used to gain entrance.

Pushing the question of how his intruder had entered to the back of his mind, Sloan slowly walked around his bed and sat down. Stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles, he folded his arms in front of his chest. If the Founder had come here to kill him, he probably would’ve done so already. Sloan tried to relax as he gave the Founder a casual look.

“I should have expected a visit from you,” Sloan said, even though he most definitely hadn’t. His mind was racing, trying to determine the motives that might’ve led the Founder here. After his sudden disappearance, Sloan had expected assassinations and sabotage attempts to spring up in the Vulcan capital or even more likely, no noticeable occurrences at all. He hadn’t expected a friendly nighttime visit.

Over the years there had been more than one incident involving a shapeshifter infiltrating a governmental body or an institution within the Federation. They’d mostly happened before the Non-Aggression Pact between the Dominion and the Federation had been signed. There had been few incidences afterward, and after one of those had ended with the quite spectacular and unfortunate death of a Founder, no more incidences had been reported. The Federation had developed ways to install tighter control. Although they weren’t even close to perfect, they had worked in dissuading the Dominion from further attempts.

Obviously Vulcan was another matter entirely. Sloan couldn’t say he blamed the Dominion for finally losing its patience, even though it was more than a little inconvenient for himself, having to deal with a Founder, who’d gone undercover.

“What can I do for you, Envoy?” he asked, watching his opposite carefully. The Founder had assumed his usual appearance. Sloan knew it resembled one of the Bajoran scientists who had first worked with the Founder. There had been speculation if he might be capable of mimicking a better resemblance if he just tried harder. Sloan suspected that he could; that his less than perfect mimicry was something of a private joke, but Sloan had never found any evidence for his suspicion.

“I’m tired of the Vulcans playing games. What’s more, the Dominion is tired of them playing games,” the Founder said gruffly.

The statement told Sloan nothing. “What do you propose?” he asked, deciding that the direct approach might be the best, especially considering how the Founder’s own approach during their negotiations with Minister Satok had lacked even the barest hint of finesse.

The Founder didn’t appear to be offended. He said, “We both know how reluctant the Federation has been to force the Vulcans back in line. The Federation Council’s indecisive policy in dealing with one of its most influential member worlds has a destabilizing influence on the whole quadrant. We won’t tolerate this any longer. I believe, however, that the recent events on Vulcan can be used as a catalyst…” The envoy looked at Sloan searchingly as if he wanted to gauge the Human’s reaction before continuing, “a catalyst to finally spur your Federation into taking the necessary steps to consolidate their hold over the quadrant.”

It was eerie how much the Founder’s words echoed Sloan’s own thoughts. What he didn’t understand was why the Founder believed he could trust Sloan. Pushing the Federation Council toward a more aggressive policy would suit his own agenda. It would follow the vision he had of what the Federation should be once they’d secured the last opposing factions. Naturally the last part of his vision wouldn’t meet with the Founder’s approval. As Sloan imagined it, the Federation would unite the whole Alpha and Beta Quadrant. Once that goal was accomplished, they would kick the Dominion out.

“How exactly do you think this spurring on will work?” he asked.

“I believe that there’s a massive ruse going on, orchestrated by the Vulcans and behind the Federation’s back. Uncovering this ruse should make it clear, once and for all, that Vulcan can no longer be trusted. They’re not only separatists but seditionists. They’re actively trying to undermine the Federation. They should be stopped, and they should be stopped now,” the Founder replied coldly.

Now Sloan couldn’t help but grin. “You’re judging them quite harshly,” he commented half mockingly. He was amused by the seriousness the Founder displayed. His attempt at manipulating Sloan into following his reasoning was heartbreakingly plain. “Nevertheless, I hear you.” Sloan added, before the Founder could act offended. “Why don’t you tell me your next steps? I guess you’re concentrating on the V’Shar?” he asked.

The Founder remained silent for a while. Eventually he nodded. “Yes, whatever is going on here, Minister Satok and his people are definitely involved. Once I have enough proof, I’m going to blow that whole operation open.” He slowly shook his head.

So far he had stood in front of Sloan, practically motionless. Now he came over to the bed and sat down next to Sloan. It was such a startling and highly inappropriate thing to do that Sloan only stared at him for a second or two before he hastily turned around to face the Founder.

Suddenly he was intensely aware of his own vulnerability, of the fact that he was sitting on his sleep-ruffled bed, clad only in his pajamas with the representative of an alien power who, while being an ally, was extremely dangerous, and who would if anything went according to Sloan’s vision, soon become an enemy of the Federation.

“Very well,” Sloan said. “I agree with you that it’s high time that the Vulcans are brought to heel. So I’m going to talk to Starfleet’s admiralty and the Council and convince them to enforce our blockade as soon as possible. Once they take that step it should get easier to coax them into the next. Of course, I need evidence supporting your claims. If I can convince them that Vulcan’s threat of secession is really nothing more than a front for the underlying sedition, this tiresome walking on eggshells will end immediately.”

Acknowledging Sloan’s words with just a court nod, the Founder rose and walked to the center of Sloan’s room. He seemed ready to leave, and his look up at the ceiling answered Sloan’s earlier question how the Founder had gotten in. There was a ventilation grid on the ceiling. Sloan had inspected it when Minister Satok’s aide had first shown him this room. The grid wasn’t bugged. It was also too small for any normal intruder to gain entrance. A shapeshifter, however, was anything but normal. “One more thing. How do we stay in contact?” Sloan asked.

Without turning, the Founder cast a quick look over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll contact you when I have anything to share.” The last word had barely left his lips when he started changing, morphing into a large churning mass of liquid amber. Leaping upward, the mass disappeared through the ventilation grid.

For a long time Sloan stared at the grid where the Founder had vanished. He had never seen one changing shape, and the sight had left him feeling both fascinated and deeply disturbed. There was something so alien, so unnatural about it, he felt his skin crawl, causing an involuntary shudder to run through him. He chided himself for his pathetic reaction. With a resolute shake of his head he got back into bed, deciding he should see that he got a few more hours of sleep.

Tomorrow he had quite a lot to do. Somehow he had acquired an ally tonight, a completely untrustworthy and highly dangerous ally, but an ally nonetheless. He wondered what Ross would make out of this.

***

Vulcan T’Karath

Bashir tried to yawn as discreetly as possible. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep the previous night. He had thought it was a perfectly innocent question when he asked Garak if he would let him top again, but obviously Garak thought differently about the matter. What had ensued had been the most ridiculous cross between a lecture on Cardassian sexual practices (Bashir hadn’t believed a word of it.), a pillow fight rapidly getting out of hand, and the slowest and most intense sex they’d had so far. He yawned again. Then cast a surreptitious look at Pavale to see if she’d noticed. She had.

Looking up from her breakfast, she gave him a far too knowing smirk. Mercifully she didn’t comment on his obvious fatigue.

“So, Kira and Garak will be leaving today,” she said instead.

“They’ve already left,” he answered. Then he saw the frown on her face. “What is it?”

“They didn’t tell me. They told _you_ , but they didn’t tell me,” she said darkly.

Bashir wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I’m sure you were busy with the _Scarab_ ,” he said at last, his words sounding lame even to his own ears.

“And it’s such a long way to the hangar, they simply couldn’t make it?” she snapped at him.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Bashir replied. “I admit I’m surprised that Kira didn’t drop by the _Scarab_ before she left. It’s not like her, but maybe she just forgot?” At Pavale’s withering look, he added hastily, “She was really stressed about this whole trap business. I think she was so relieved to have all of us finally together again, and then T’Pel tells her she wants to use Garak as a lure to trap that envoy.”

Taking a long sip of tea, Pavale looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Yes, maybe that’s the reason,” she finally conceded. “I admit, I was more than a little surprised that Garak actually volunteered for this. Until now I haven’t taken him for the foolish heroic type.”

Her comment angered Bashir. He could see nothing foolish about Garak’s part in their plan, but then he realized that she wasn’t exactly criticizing Garak. After all, it really was out of character for him to willingly play the lure. “I don’t think he not so much volunteered as. They all agreed he would be the most effective bait,” he answered.

Pavale only grunted at his explanation.

For a while they ate in silence. Pavale still seemed troubled, and Bashir thought he could understand her. He had wisely refrained from mentioning that Kira had said her good-byes to him when she had come to their room to collect Garak. The picture of her standing in the open door, taking in an only half-dressed Bashir as well as unfortunate and slightly embarrassing signs of cruelly abused pillow fillings, was something he wouldn’t forget easily. Who would have thought that Vulcan pillows were filled with something closely resembling little fluffy cotton-balls?

He had to force himself to return his attention to Pavale. An inattentive breakfast companion was the last thing she needed now. As he watched her drinking her tea, he had the feeling that there was something else troubling her. He wondered what could be so terrible that it left the normally so outspoken Romulan tongue-tied like this.

Just as the silence became uncomfortable, Pavale broke it. Speaking slowly, her voice slightly hushed, she said, “I think if I had the choice, I would like to return here one day.”

He stared at her in surprise. That was so far away from anything he would’ve guessed, he didn’t know how to react and what to say.

She hastily added. “I know it’s highly unlikely, but should we survive, I would like to return here, not T’Karath but Vulcan.”

“I’m surprised. I was under the impression that you weren’t getting along very well with them,” Bashir answered. He was touched that she felt comfortable enough to confide in him, but he honestly didn’t understand her wish, not after he had seen her interacting with her team of Vulcan engineers.

“Why do you say that?” she asked. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but stopped herself, letting her gaze wander through the canteen instead, before looking back at Bashir. “It’s difficult to work with them,” she finally told him. “We look so much alike, Romulans and Vulcans, and there are other striking similarities, but it’s all only skin-deep. Underneath there are hidden fractures, and it doesn’t take much to bring them to the surface. Occasionally I’ve made the mistake of ignoring them, and I’ve stumbled a lot because of it.” Suddenly she smiled at him. “It’s easier for you,” she said.

“I don’t know. I haven’t had to work with Vulcans that often. I mean, during my Academy training—” he began.

“No, I’m not talking about them,” she interrupted him. “I’m talking about you and Garak. I imagine with so many obvious differences between the two of you it’s far easier to avoid some of the trappings, I’ve fallen prey to.” She leaned forward, and her voice dropped in volume again. “Back on the _Dagger_ I was absolutely convinced that the two of you were a fake. I thought that at the heart of that relationship of yours lay nothing more than manipulation and mutual use.”

Bashir was startled. Their conversation was getting stranger by the second. It had started with the relatively innocent subject of the trap for the Dominion’s envoy, touched upon the cultural differences of Romulans and Vulcans and finally arrived at a Romulan psychoanalyzing him and his admittedly unusual affair with Garak. Before he could come up with an at least halfway sensible comment, Pavale continued her observations.

“I had to change my initial assessment eventually. After our arrival here in T’Karath, Garak was genuinely worried about you, at first that you wouldn’t make it. The reports from the hospital weren’t optimistic. Later when we knew that you were stable and slowly recuperating, he started to pressure T’Pel and Kira to get you out of there. He and Kira had some impressive arguments.” She grinned. “They were quite entertaining, too,” she added, her typical sarcastic humor making an appearance. “Now it’s just you I have to figure out.”

She was only teasing him, he hoped. Giving her a wide smile, he said, “That shouldn’t be too difficult.” At her skeptical look, he added, “Come on, Belle. If you’ve figured Garak out, I should be an open book to you in comparison.”

He grinned, and she snorted and grinned back at him, raising an eyebrow, accepting his challenge as playfully as it had been issued.

***

Vulcan, ShiKahr

Sloan stared at the screen of his communications terminal, showing him not only Admiral Ross, but also two other Starfleet admirals, as well as a man who had only been introduced as a representative of the Federation Council, but whom Sloan had immediately recognized as one of its most trusted and influential advisors, one of those who held much more influence nowadays than was publicly known.

“It is my belief that the Vulcan government is directly involved in the latest terrorist attacks both on the Dominion’s and our own installations,” Sloan said.

“Do you have evidence to support that claim?” Ross asked.

“So far it is mostly circumstantial, but in its extent it allows for only one plausible interpretation. We have three Starfleet captains, committing an obvious act of treason. We have a defector, whose extradition is first stalled by the Vulcan government, and whose later ‘accidental’ death is more than suspicious. Lastly I have evidence that at least one other member of that terrorist group has survived the crash of that Dominion fighter.”

His last remark caused a stirring and shifting among his listeners. Meaningful looks were exchanged, not all of them interpretable to Sloan, who watched their reactions, trying to gauge the exact impact his words had made. He had a clear agenda. Whatever the Founder might discover, it was high time that the blockade Starfleet had prepared was finally put into place. After that the Federation’s next steps would largely depend on how Vulcan reacted.

Should they decide to cut their losses and fall back in with the Federation Council’s official line of policy, he would recommend a form of protected status for the planet, maybe something that resembled a probationary membership. Should the Vulcans decide to offer further resistance it would finally be time to teach them a lesson.

“What evidence are we talking about?” Ross asked, interrupting Sloan’s train of thought. Sloan could see Ross’ irritation. While Sloan had informed the admiral about his alliance with the Founder, Sloan hadn’t had an opportunity to inform him about this latest information.

“It’s an overheard conversation between Minister Satok, the Head of the V’Shar and his allegedly dead aide. During that conversation a hideout was mentioned where the aide herself as well as a survivor of the Dominion fighter’s crash on Vulcan is hiding. Apparently it’s the Cardassian we had briefly captured on Bajor, who was freed during the terrorist attack on our HQ there.”

“That sounds a bit too flimsy for me.” It was the Council’s representative that had spoken. “How do you intend to substantiate those claims?” he asked.

“My own options on Vulcan are very limited.” Sloan admitted. “I’m constantly watched. I’ve concentrated my attention on interrogating the command officers of the _Hera_ and _T’Kumbra._ Furthermore I’ve refrained from relying on any Starfleet personnel in our HQ on Vulcan. The risk of security breaches there is simply too high. However, the Dominion’s envoy has turned out to be a highly motivated if admittedly not completely trustworthy ally. He’s right now on his way to investigate that hideout, and I expect to hear from him as soon as he’s found anything significant.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the thought of relying on one of those Founders as our main source of information,” one of the other admirals threw in, her voice sharp, almost derisive.

Sloan shook his head, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “That’s not the case, Admiral. We’re merely using some of his people’s unique capabilities to achieve our own goals. He knows that we need proof, and he’s willing to provide us with a living witness, either the minister’s aide or the Cardassian. Once we have one of them we can finally get to the truth.”

Ross looked at him out of hooded eyes. “And have you considered the damage it might cause if that Founder dies? What if he discovers a larger plot against the Dominion and Federation on Vulcan? What if he informs the Dominion about those discoveries? Have you considered how much additional pressure that might put on the Federation Council and Starfleet? The Dominion is already breathing down our necks.”

Sloan nodded solemnly. “Yes Admiral, of course I have. And it’s exactly that line of reasoning that has convinced me that the only feasible plan of action is a two-fold strategy. By putting our blockade into place, we have an effective way of putting pressure on the Vulcan government to finally see reason. At the same time, we will have a tight enough net of ships to suppress any outgoing communications from the planet. Lastly, the blockade will ensure that he never reaches his people.” He paused before adding slowly, “In such troubled times, collateral damage is always a risk, and after all, the Dominion has made it absolutely clear that their envoy has safely arrived in the Gamma Quadrant.”

Silence fell during which another round of meaningful looks was exchanged. At last Admiral Ross spoke again, “Thank you, Director. We’ll keep you posted.”

The connection was cut, and after a moment Sloan started to disassemble his encryption equipment. Briefly he thought back to his last contact with the Founder. He had been livid, obviously taking the Vulcans’ deception far more personally than Sloan would have expected. Or had it been the discovery that the surviving member was a Cardassian? Sloan decided to look into that matter later. Whatever the cause, he was sure that the Founder would do anything in his power to uproot that hideout. The only question was if he would be willing to share his findings with Sloan.

***

Earth, San Francisco

It took the Federation Council a full day to reach a decision, but after exactly twenty-seven hours, a blockade upheld by several contingents of Starfleet ships was put into place, effectively isolating Vulcan, preventing both communications and traffic from and to the planet.

A note of protest by the Vulcan government was issued. The Federation Council answered by declaring its willingness to negotiate while stating their sincere regret that serious allegations against the Vulcan government had made such a precautious step necessary.

The Vulcan ambassador to the Federation was offered the choice of staying on Earth, placed under house-arrest, or returning to Vulcan. She chose to leave.


	9. Chapter 9

Vulcan, the Forge

The touch of the sun was like a fierce kiss on his skin. Sitting in front of the irregularly shaped cave entrance, Garak had his eyes closed as he soaked up the warmth.

He and T’Pel had settled on this place as the perfect location for their trap. The cave behind him was situated at the very end of a steep ravine, following the foothills leading to Mount Seleya. The cave itself led to a small system of tunnels and caverns that snaked and twisted throughout the rock formation. T’Pel had assured him that the entrance in the ravine was the only one.

Like T’Karath this place was situated in the Forge, which meant that the same geomagnetic instabilities that interfered with transporters or scanners in T’Karath affected those technologies here. It didn’t affect their own natural vision though, and with two dozen Vulcans in place, they were sure that not even a Founder would be able to enter the ravine without being spotted.

Evening was setting in. The sun’s rays were no longer as relentless as they’d been earlier. Midday in the Forge turned the ravine into a furnace of sizzling stone and searing air. During that time staying in the open was impossible. Even Garak, whose heat-tolerance was quite high, had to retreat into the half-shade the cave’s entrance offered, but as soon as the sun passed its zenith, and the temperature started to drop, he came out again, keeping up his vigil and visibility.

 _No one can claim that I’m not taking this bait business seriously_ , he thought. Shifting slightly, he searched for a more comfortable position in the warm sand. It had been a while since he had last sat cross-legged on the ground, but the posture fitted his surroundings. It also reminded him of his youth and the exercises in mental focusing and centering he had undergone so many years ago. It was a good memory that left him feeling slightly nostalgic, while the slight discomfort kept him alert.

He and Kira, as well as two contingents of V’Shar operatives, had come to this place a day ago. Their goal was simple: lure the Founder here and kill him.

Though he couldn’t see them, he knew there were two well hidden spaces hewn into the ravine’s walls. T’Pel had told him that in ancient times they had served as lodgings for a religious sect who’d sought out the solitude only the Forge could offer them. Now these spaces served as hiding places for Kira and the Vulcans. Set slightly above ground level the ancient lodgings were also perfect lookouts.

Only one of the Vulcan operatives was staying with Garak in the open. Sival was his guard, and he lent their trap an additional amount of credibility. At least that was the plan.

Overall Garak was satisfied with their set-up, even if he felt it was a bit too obvious. Were he in Odo’s position he would see through it immediately. T’Pel, however, had assured him that it wasn’t the alleged hideout that would draw Odo to this place, but the information she had planted for Odo to find. Then she’d given Garak an ironic look and said, “Besides Garak, don’t forget the opportunity’s appeal of getting even with one’s former torturer. You’re an irresistible lure.”

Garak hadn’t had a reply to that. He still had serious misgivings with _being_ an irresistible lure and he wasn’t too eager to meet Odo again either. He clearly remembered the Founder’s pitiful, hunched over form, claiming again and again to have no further knowledge about the Dominion and the Founders, staring at Garak across the table, presenting a picture of utter misery and desolation.

Garak’s interrogations had produced no useful results. It had made him question Tain’s reasons for pulling Garak off the case. Tain had said he needed Garak for something more important. A few days earlier, though, Tain had rather casually inquired if he was possibly sympathizing with something as despicable as this shapeshifter. Tain had smiled at him and had continued by saying, “I only hope you’re not losing your bite.”

At the time Garak had scoffed and rejected both notions with an equally acerbic reply and a roll of his eyes. Nonetheless the warning wrapped in an insult had been well understood. He hadn’t been overly concerned, though. This was a familiar routine between him and Tain, with Garak finding his motives and loyalty questioned at almost every turn. It was a game of strike and counterstrike with stakes so very high, a game he hated and reveled in at the same time, a game he had finally lost, which had sent him into exile from Cardassia and to Terok Nor.

With Tain most likely dead it was a game Garak would never play again. He took a deep breath, remembering some of the footage he had seen at T’Karath, footage that had shown Cardassia Prime and the results the so called ‘disciplinary actions’ the Dominion were inflicting on his homeworld. The bombardments of whole cities had resulted in widespread devastations. One image had especially caught his eye, had imprinted itself to his memory – the planet, seen from some distance, its former beauty of dark greens, browns and blues marred by a web of blackened veins and patches; its once clear skies fouled by dark clouds of smoke and ash.

He had watched in shock, but soon anger had won over, sending him into an outburst of unchecked fury. At that point he hadn’t cared about anything. He had just reacted, screaming and hissing at everyone and everything. Kira had first tried to console him, had tried to calm him down, but all her attempts had enraged him even further until she had finally resorted to shouting him down, yelling at him at the top of her lungs to pull himself together.

He remembered it clearly; the two of them, standing in one of the conference rooms in front of a vid-screen, around them a small group of Vulcans. They had watched Kira and him, had watched the emotional spectacle the two of them had presented, but the Vulcans hadn’t interfered. When Kira’s shouts had finally gotten through to Garak, the shouts that had accused him of acting like an idiot and a spoiled child, he had abruptly fallen silent. For a split-second he had stared at her and the impulse to kill, to simply throttle her and be done with it, to find this smallest outlet for his fury had been so strong, it had left him shaking. He hadn’t though. Instead he had stomped back to his room, where he had quietly broken down.

That evening something had changed within him, something important. Seeing his beautiful Cardassia reduced to rubble and debris, seeing his people die, it was too much to bear. His resolve of stopping at nothing to bring the Dominion down, to rid his people of their oppressors, had gained a new quality then. It had been strong before, but now it was like a white-hot flame burning inside him.

Garak opened his eyes and watched the sun slowly disappearing below the rocky walls of the ravine. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long until Odo showed up. He hoped for slightly more than just a taking out.

Garak’s right hand wandered to the back of his waistband where he had tucked his phaser. He practically itched to be the one to kill Odo. He wanted to get this over with. In the morning Kira had called in, not the usual short check-in they did at irregular intervals, and she had asked for Garak. Sival had called him in, and together they’d listened to Kira as she had told them of the Federation’s blockade. Obviously no one on Vulcan had expected its implementation at this point. Kira had sounded anxious, and Garak had silently berated himself for following through with T’Pel’s plan. It couldn’t be helped, though. It was always easy to criticize one’s decisions in hindsight.

Hearing movement at his back, Garak threw a quick look over his shoulder. Sival was coming through the cave’s entrance, casting a searching look around as he did so. Garak looked up at the Vulcan. Sival was the silent type, a fact that suited Garak just fine. He wasn’t surprised when his nod of acknowledgement wasn’t answered by the Vulcan. Instead of following his usual routine of taking a look around and stepping back inside, however, Sival slightly jerked his head, signaling Garak to join him in the cave.

Garak was puzzled by the gesture. He couldn’t fathom why Sival would act like this. It didn’t feel suspicious. Garak wasn’t alarmed but annoyed. For a moment he remained sitting, staring at the horizon visible only at the ravine’s entrance. Then he had an idea. Maybe Sival had seen something in the ravine and wanted to point it out to Garak without being too obvious about it. _Yes, that must be it,_ Garak thought, feeling a sudden thrill of excitement. He got up unhurriedly, taking the few steps toward the cave’s entrance and walked into the darkness.

The hands that gripped and spun him around spoke of a strength not even a Vulcan possessed. Garak found himself flung against the tunnel wall, barely managing to brace himself with his hands to prevent himself from crashing into it headfirst. Before he could react he felt his weapon pulled out of his waistband. He heard a familiar sloshing sound he remembered from years ago. It made his skin prickle in sudden apprehension. It was the sound of a Founder changing form.

“Turn around,” a gravelly voice said, a voice Garak knew all too well.

He did as he was told. The tunnel’s dimness made it difficult to see his opponent clearly, but there was no doubt who stood in front of him, pointing Garak’s own weapon at him and giving him a grim smile.

“A Cardassian hiding in a cave on Vulcan. How very quaint,” Odo said, smirking at Garak mockingly.

Garak went for the falsest smile he could manage. “Why Odo, what a… _remarkable_ coincidence meeting you here.” Carefully Garak spread his arms. “Please, feel free to share my humble abode. It might not look like much, but I’ve found it quite comfortable in the last three weeks.” He paused for a second, cocking his head to the side before he added, “Although I must’ve overlooked a backdoor somehow.” He didn’t understand how Odo had managed to get into the cave system. T’Pel had sworn that there wasn’t any other entrance to it than the one inside the ravine.

Odo snorted. “I remember, Garak. You’ve always been such an exemplary host. I’m afraid I have to decline, though. We’re going to take a little walk,” he replied, ignoring Garak’s implied question, motioning with the phaser for him to step deeper into the tunnel.

Garak pushed himself away from the wall and did as he was told, picking up a very slow pace toward the first cave where he and his guard had stayed during the last night. He wondered what had happened to Sival. He tried to calculate how long it would take for Kira to determine that something might be wrong and come checking. Their established routine of irregular check-ins had sounded reasonable when they settled on it, but now his earlier concurrence turned into resentment as it didn’t allow him to calculate when the next call might come in. Probably it would be soon enough to prevent anything unfortunate happening to him, or maybe not.

He was still contemplating how likely a rescue at the last second might be when he reached the first cave. It was only sparsely illuminated by the light of two small pocket lamps, but it was enough to show him the fate of his guard. The man was lying on his back, his open eyes staring at the ceiling, the unnatural angle of his head leaving no doubt about the cause of his death. Against Odo the Vulcan hadn’t had a chance.

Garak stopped instinctively at the sight, not out of surprise. He had expected something like this, but the actual confirmation of his fears still managed to heighten his mounting feeling of dread. _Another cave, and once again I find myself captured. I’m really growing tired of this._ A soft whistling sound made him flinch. Then he heard Kira’s voice, sounding somewhat muffled, coming from somewhere beneath the Vulcan’s body.

“Sival, come in,” she said.

A movement made Garak look around. He watched as Odo moved past him and bent down to dig underneath Sival’s body until he could pull the radio free, all the while keeping his phaser trained at Garak.

“This is Sival, all is clear,” Odo answered, almost perfectly imitating Sival’s voice.

Silently Garak cursed. Since Odo had remained silent as he had impersonated Sival earlier, Garak had hope that the Founder wasn’t capable of copying Sival’s voice. As it turned out, Odo was more than good enough at it. Yes, Garak might’ve heard the difference, but he doubted that Kira would pick up on it, not through the slight distortions that the Forge’s geomagnetic instabilities caused. Had Garak known, he might have taken the risk and tried to run, but the moment had come and gone. He had let what might very well have been his last opportunity to warn Kira pass. He had failed; he was an idiot.

Looking at Odo, he saw an answering smirk directed at him. It felt like a direct reply to Garak’s thoughts, a mocking commentary about the increasing hopelessness of his situation.

“At her last call, poor Sival was still alive. Really, these Vulcans aren’t too imaginative, are they?” Odo told him, the smirk still firmly in place. He made another motion with the phaser, gesturing toward the cave’s other exit that led further into the tunnel system.

“After you,” he said.

***

In the end it was just a gut feeling that raised Kira’s suspicions. Some time had passed since she last called in with Garak and Sival. Everything had seemed to be all right with them, but that nagging suspicion kept whirling around in her mind and churning in her guts. She somehow knew that something was wrong, something was off. She wished she could put her finger on it. More than once her hand had moved to her communicator during the last minutes, but she hadn’t called them again. They had agreed on irregular intervals; there was no point in harassing the two men by calling them every few minutes.

She’d seen both of them vanishing inside their hideout more than an hour ago. She’d assumed they were retreating to eat before taking up their vigil for the rest of the evening. When she had called in a short while later, Sival had been a bit slow to answer, but he had answered her in his usual fashion, short and to the point. She couldn’t say what was troubling her, but she _was_ troubled, and the feeling wouldn’t go away.

From her vantage point slightly higher than the retreat’s entrance, she raised her binoculars, taking another look at the ravine down below and its entrance to the west. Soon the evening’s twilight would fade to night. T’Kuth had already risen above the horizon, promising a luminous night. They wouldn’t have to rely on it. Their binoculars had night vision, and fortunately the Forge’s geological peculiarities didn’t interfere with it. Still, Kira found it soothing to watch the starlit ravine whenever she was able to take a break. Vulcan at night was as striking as Vulcan by day, but at night the softer illumination had a gentling effect on the harsher features of Vulcan’s landscape while adding an air of mystery to its features.

Kira checked the time again. Almost an hour had passed since her last check-in. Now she _did_ pull out her communicator.

“Sival, come in.”

Patiently she waited for the Vulcan’s reply. It didn’t come, and she felt a sharp twinge in her stomach. Something _was_ wrong, she was sure now.

“Sival, come in,” she repeated.

Without waiting any longer, she turned slightly until she could make eye-contact with some of the operatives around her. They were always listening in on her communications. Now their sudden intense alertness almost felt like a physical presence surrounding her. They remained utterly calm. A few started checking their phaser-setting, probably making sure they’d set them correctly to affect a Founder, but none of them showed any signs of outward alarm or excitement. Kira wasn’t sure if she found their behavior more reassuring or annoying. She tugged her communicator away and pulled out her phaser.

“Go,” she whispered.

She watched them file out into the ravine, like curls of heavy smoke silently drifting downward. On the other side of the ravine she saw similar signs of movement. She would’ve liked to lead them, but it had been clear from the start that she’d be more of a hindrance than help, and so she’d resigned herself to just fall in line.

It was rapidly getting darker now as they reached the ravine’s ground. Switching to night vision, they moved slowly, always staying close to the walls. Everything was silent, no sound coming from the cave’s entrance in front of them. Kira looked at the entrance, its pitch-black opening looming before her like the jaw of a giant beast. Her stomach gave another twinge.

The Vulcans in front of her moved so silently, Kira had to resist the urge to hold her breath. She saw two of them positioning themselves to the left and right of the cave’s entrance. A third, one of the contingent leaders, entered first. It really was more reassuring than annoying, Kira decided.

She couldn’t help but compare them to her former Bajoran resistance group; such a rabble those had been. She smiled at the memory before calling herself to order. This really wasn’t the time. She saw the remaining of the two contingent leaders making a hand gesture in her direction, ushering her to come forward. Kira moved closer, stepping beside the leader, giving her a sideways look and saw the woman nod in response. Kira knew it was just a gesture of courtesy, but she appreciated it nonetheless. Together they watched most of the operatives enter until only a handful remained outside. Those would cover their backs.

Finally Kira and the leader entered the cave, bringing up the rear.

Swiftly they moved through the tunnel until they came to the first cave. Kira had been there once after they’d arrived here, wanting to familiarize herself with the layout before she was holed up in her lookout. She was greeted by soft lighting as she stepped inside. She saw four Vulcans moving around the cave, obviously searching for hints of what might have happened here. Kira’s gaze, however, was immediately drawn to the body lying in the cave’s center.

It wasn’t Garak, and her instant relief at the realization left her almost dizzy. At the same time she couldn’t help the reflexive feeling of guilt. She hadn’t known Sival, but she was sure that his untimely death would leave a hole in someone’s life. All too conscious of the Vulcans around her, she stepped closer to the body and crouching down, she whispered, “Walk with the Prophets, my friend.”

She closed her eyes until she sensed movement beside her. It was the contingent leader again, who began a careful search of Sival’s body.

Looking at Kira, she said, “His neck is broken, and his communicator is missing. We haven’t found anything useful in the cave.”

“What now?” Kira asked.

“Now we’re waiting until the rest of the cave system has been searched. There’s still a chance that the Founder and Garak are hiding somewhere, although the probability of that is rapidly reaching zero. It’s far more likely we will discover the means that allowed the Founder to gain entrance without coming through the ravine,” the leader answered.

Kira wasn’t happy about the prospect, but she only nodded. They had to wait for almost half an hour before they got an all-clear. At the same time the second contingent leader arrived at the cave. He motioned them to follow him, saying they’d found something further in.

For a moment Kira was annoyed by the man’s vagueness. She dreaded the possibility that the ‘something’ might turn out to be Garak’s body, but then she called herself to order. If they had found a body the Vulcan would’ve said so. No, they’d found some _thing_.

He led them deep into the cave system until Kira began to suspect they probably had gotten lost, but just as the thought crossed her mind, she saw a slight shimmer of light ahead of them. Moving closer she realized that there was an opening in the right tunnel wall. Through it the pale light of distant stars and T'Kuht filtered in.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” the leader at Kira’s side said. “The walls here are almost a meter thick. No one should be able to create such a hole without using explosives. We would have heard that.”

“Then the Founder used another method,” Kira answered. At the combined looks of disapproval that remark earned her, she added, “Hey, don’t expect me to explain how, but it’s obvious that he accomplished it somehow.” She didn’t wait for any further comments and stepped through the hole.

Once outside, she had looked briefly at the desert stretching out in front of her before she started scanning the ground. It took her a while, but finally she found two sets of footprints, one following the other, that led away from the rock formation and out into the open desert. The others had joined her, and turning to them, she said, “It looks like they’ve headed out into the desert.” Again she didn’t wait for a comment. She pulled off her night vision, more comfortable to rely on her natural vision. Then she followed the tracks. _Let the Vulcans sort out their contingents,_ she thought. They would follow soon enough.

***

Vulcan, T’Karath

“We’re never going to make it out of the system now!” Pavale exclaimed.

Bashir looked at her bent back as she leaned low over her station on the _Scarab’s_ bridge. He was as frustrated and angry as she, perhaps even more.

The first blow they’d suffered had been the announcement of the blockade. That had been a nasty shock. While there had been talking and rumors about the possibility of a blockade, T’Pel and the other Vulcans at T’Karath hadn’t believed that this would happen so soon. They firmly believed in a diplomatic solution to the conflict between Vulcan and the Federation. With the blockade in place, however, it seemed more and more unlikely that the _Scarab_ would ever reach the Gamma Quadrant.

Pavale and Bashir had spent hours talking with T’Pel, discussing how they could still achieve their goal, even with a blockade in place encircling Vulcan in a tight and deadly net of ships and attack drones.

That’s when the second blow hit them. Somehow the envoy they’d been planning to trap and hunt down, had turned the tables on them, finding some loop-hole and killing one of the Vulcan operatives. Taking Garak with him, he had disappeared into the vast desert. Kira and the Vulcans had followed them. They couldn’t say how much of a lead the Founder had, though.

“Why can’t we send out shuttles to search for Garak?” Bashir had asked, feeling anxious and slightly impatient. He thought that with shuttles it should be easy to track him and the envoy down, regardless of their lead.

T’Pel’s answer had shattered his hope immediately. “With the blockade in place, we can’t risk sending shuttles. Now it’s not only Vulcan air control monitoring every movement, the Federation is observing us closely, too.” She shook her head. “But the fact that the Founder’s taken Garak with him is a good sign. If he had planned to kill Garak, he would’ve done so already, and obviously he has a destination he wants to reach. If Kira and our operatives fail in catching up with the Founder and Garak, then I will find out where they’ve gone. Once they leave the Forge, I have the advantage, because once they enter any populated area, I can find them.”

“You’re that good,” Pavale had remarked, her voice heavy with doubt.

“I’m better,” T’Pel had answered with absolute confidence.

Not having anything else to do, Bashir and Pavale had retreated to the _Scarab_. Running system diagnostics and tweaking their ship’s system would give them somewhat distracted at least.

“Come on, Belle. Try to think positive,” Bashir now said. “It’s not as if we haven’t accomplished quite a number of improbable things so far, right? What’s one more?” He smiled at her, but didn’t get an answering smile. Pavale just frowned at him.

“You’re awfully cool about this, Bashir,” she stated, suspicion creeping into her voice as she continued to stare at him, her expression suddenly turning as blank as a Vulcan’s. “Shouldn’t you be at least a little bit concerned about that Cardassian of yours? He seems to have a real knack for getting into trouble. This time he might not be able to get out of it. Aren’t you worried how much of our plans he might’ve already told that Founder? He’s a Cardassian after all.”

Her last words hung in the air like a hangman’s noose waiting for a convict. More than anything, Bashir was startled. He couldn’t understand why she would say something like that now, lash out with unfounded accusations and suspicions. He had thought they’d made it past this kind of thinking. He had assumed, naively perhaps, that by now they were seeing each other as individuals and not as stereotypes of their respective species’.

Trying to stay calm, he said, “I know you don’t mean that. We both know that Garak won’t divulge anything to the envoy if he can help it, and of course I’m worried. I’m just trying to keep it bottled, but if you want me to drive us both crazy, I can certainly oblige you.”

This time she grinned at hearing his threat. She shook her head, signaling her defeat. While her voice was just as rough at her next words as it had been before, the smile she gave him more than made up for it. “Oh, be quiet, and bring the cloak’s power output up to 90%, will you?”

***

Vulcan, ShiKahr

Sloan was getting more and more restless. He had expected a call from the Founder hours ago, and the lengthening silence felt more and more like a nasty omen. By now he felt sure that something must’ve gone wrong. Standing on the shuttle platform that was situated on top of Starfleet HQ on Vulcan, he watched as the lingering red tint of the evening’s horizon slowly segued into the deep black of night. His communicator beeped at him.

“We’re on our way. Come and get us,” a voice said, barely decipherable over a sea of underlying static. It was nondescript and unknown, but Sloan hadn’t expected anything else. Using his own voice would’ve been quite foolish, and Odo definitely hadn’t struck him as a fool. Well, at least not that kind of fool. Sloan didn’t answer verbally. He sent back a signal they’d agreed upon. Nothing else was necessary.

Turning, he headed toward one of the shuttles parked behind him. It hadn’t been easy, registering a shuttle flight that would allow him to cross the Forge. Vulcan air control was uncharacteristically jittery, if such a term could be applied to a Vulcan at all. The blockade had brought with it quite a few new regulations and restrictions, but Starfleet still held enough authority on Vulcan that a legitimate request wouldn’t be denied. His false statement of purpose and destination, along with an equally false identification had been accepted without question.

He entered the shuttle and swiftly powered up its systems. Enabling a vocal scrambler he had brought with him and had installed earlier, he contacted Vulcan air control, informed them of his departure, and making meticulously certain he obeyed any regulations concerning aerial flight in Vulcan’s atmosphere, he set a course toward the coordinates he and the Founder had agreed upon.

Leaving the city limits, it took him only minutes to reach the Forge where he headed to the region east of Mount Seleya. He would land near an unnamed rock formation in the middle of nowhere, halfway between the large mountainous range of which Mount Seleya was the most prominent landmark and another mountain range further in the east.

He landed the shuttle as closely to the rock formation as possible. Then he waited.

***

Vulcan, the Forge

In principle, Garak had nothing against a bracing walk through a desert. Vulcan, however, had some nasty features up its sleeve, turning this walk first into a laborious task and then into sheer torture. The high gravity was pulling at his legs, making every step that much harder to take while the thin air made his lungs burn and caused bright spots to appear before his eyes.

It didn’t help that the pace Odo was forcing him to keep up was too fast. Garak fervently wished for a glass of water. It had been a dangerously long time since he had drunk anything. His spirits briefly lifted when the communicator Odo had taken from the dead Sival started whistling. Garak’s hopes were been dashed quickly, though, when Odo didn’t even break his stride.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Garak asked.

He only got a shove at his back as an answer.

Time passed and he estimated they had probably walked for no more than an hour, but he knew he needed a rest. Otherwise he would simply collapse. He stumbled and would’ve fallen, hadn’t a hard grip on his arm caught him, keeping him upright.

“Don’t tell me you’re already tired,” Odo said, but he stopped nonetheless.

Garak gave Odo a sideways glance. He knew he shouldn’t answer. Keeping quiet would be the wisest choice now, but he had always found it hard not to respond to a verbal challenge.

“Well, then I won’t,” he replied lightly, giving Odo a polite smile.

Odo looked at him derisively. “Good, I distinctly remember numerous rather boasting speeches about Cardassian superiority. Consider my disappointment should I discover now that those were only just that, mindless boasts,” he said.

Had he given those speeches? Garak couldn’t remember. It didn’t sound like his style, so maybe Odo was referring to Garak’s successor, whoever that might have been. He searched his memory until a name came up, Gul Madred, yes, that had been the one. It had been someone from the military who had taken over Odo’s interrogations. Garak had met the man only once, but now that he thought about it, he remembered reading something in Madred’s personal file that hinted at a certain proclivity for pompous speeches.

Garak realized that he was rambling, losing himself in his own thoughts and memories. It was probably a sign of his exhaustion. He just wanted to lie down. He wondered if he should just tell Odo. There was nothing stopping him but his own pride. One thing was certain. In his current condition he had absolute no chance to escape.

A series of deep howls cut through the night’s air, bringing his internal musings to an abrupt end. He looked around, but couldn’t see anything. _Sehlats_ , he thought, _and judging by the sounds there are at least two. Hasn’t T’Pel said they are solitary hunters?_ More howls followed, sounding distinctly closer. Garak turned around again, trying to pinpoint the howling’s origin, but couldn’t. He hadn’t paid much attention to T’Pel’s warnings about sehlats. Back at T’Karath it had seemed rather pointless, as Garak saw no reason for leaving the protection T’Karath offered.

Odo was following his example, but judging by the look on his face he hadn’t been any more successful in determining where the sehlats were hiding. There were sand dunes obstructing their view all around them.

“What is that?” Odo asked at last.

“I have no idea, but I think we should seek out cover,” Garak answered. He cast a look over his shoulder as he started walking again. He had no idea where they were heading. Clearly Odo was heading for a particular place, but it looked as if the desert stretched out endlessly in every direction. The only thing Garak knew for certain was that it couldn’t be Mount Seleya. They were moving away from it.

A few minutes later they reached the end of the dune field. Instead a flat desert plain, its ground covered by loosely strewn rocks, lay before them. A group of large boulders lay not far away to their right. Garak didn’t think they wouldn’t offer much cover if those sehlats were indeed hunting them. Maybe he should have told Odo about them, but would it have made a difference? Another series of howls broke through the silence. They sounded closer and more to their right. Could it be that they were trying to cut him and Odo off from reaching those rocks? How intelligent were those predators?

As if in answer to his thoughts, he felt a prod to his shoulder.

“Run for the rocks,” Odo barked, and this time Garak decided to save his breath, refrain from any witty comments, and simply do as he was told. He had no idea how far away those rocks were. The darkness made it difficult to estimate distances. He only hoped he had the strength to make it. His mind was whirling, going through possibility after possibility, trying to determine if there was any way he could turn this threat to his favor. He could hear Odo’s footsteps behind him, fast and heavy. The Founder obviously wasn’t struggling with Vulcan’s planetary conditions.

The sound of falling rocks to their right drew Garak’s attention. Had there been a shadow? He wasn’t sure, but he could’ve sworn he had seen a flash of movement. The sight sent a sharp spike of fear through him. Again he almost lost his footing, stumbling forward. This time Odo didn’t bother to catch him. Garak fell to his knees, barely managing to break the fall with his hands. He heard a heavy thud behind him.

Scrambling around and coming up to a crouch, he saw a massive, furry, four-legged creature pinning Odo to the ground. The sehlat growled low and savagely, and the sound made Garak freeze. It was a growl that spoke of blood and torn flesh. No language barrier impeded its meaning. _I’m going to devour you_ , it said. _Maybe I’ll decide to first play with you for a while_ , it promised. _The end result will be the same. It’s only a question of how long your screams will last._

Very cautiously Garak tried to scan his immediate vicinity. Any movement could draw the beast’s attention, and Garak was perfectly content that it was focused on Odo instead of him. His eyes searched for the phaser Odo must’ve dropped when the sehlat bowled into him, but Garak couldn’t see it. He knew it was a risk, but he slowly moved to the side, trying to keep an eye on the sehlat while he continued looking for the phaser.

He had no idea where the other sehlats were, but he needed that phaser. It was his only chance at survival, and though he had always known he might come to a violent death someday, ending up in the bowels of a wild beast definitely wasn’t his idea of a fitting end. Moving further to his right, he finally saw the phaser, lying only a couple of feet away. He risked a glance back at Odo and the sehlat. Strangely enough, the sehlat was still crouched over the Founder, but had not attempted to attack so far. _Maybe it’s not sure if Odo is edible_ , Garak thought, involuntarily amused by the idea.

There was no time to lose. Counting on the fact that Odo would keep the sehlat sufficiently occupied, Garak circled them to get the phaser. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of steel. He heard the sehlat’s growl change to a high pitched whine.

Just as he bent down to pick up the weapon, he was toppled to the ground by a weight so heavy it drove all the air out of his lungs. His first thought was that somehow Odo had been so fast that he had already gotten rid of the sehlat, and was now lunging for Garak, trying to prevent him from getting the phaser. On second thought, though, the weight on his back was far too heavy.

Lying on his stomach, Garak was completely helpless. He had gotten sand in his mouth and eyes and was practically blind. He tried bringing one of his arms around, so he could at least clear his eyes, when he felt hot breath ghosting over his neck. The following growl made him shiver. He stopped breathing, thinking that this was it. No way out this time.

His only hope was Odo. Where was the damn shapeshifter? Garak had no way of telling. Suddenly the heavy body above him jerked violently before it sagged down, half crushing Garak in the process. He felt such a wave of relief flooding through him, it left him feeling dizzy again. Tensing all his muscles, he managed to half crawl, half claw his way out from under the carcass, at some point even getting help from Odo, who gripped his wrists and pulled hard. For a moment Garak remained lying on the ground, carefully freeing his eyes and mouth from the sand before he looked up at the Founder. With regret he noticed the phaser in Odo’s hand.

Slowly getting to his feet, Garak saw that there was a large stab wound in the sehlat’s neck. Remembering the flash of steel he assumed that Odo had somehow formed a blade, maybe out of one of his arms, to kill the beast. It was logical, yet the realization startled Garak. He had no idea that the Founder could transform parts of him like that. It left Garak with a sinking feeling as he understood just how overpowered he was right now.

A distant shout, a voice sounding faintly familiar, coming from the boulders ahead of them, made him look up. There was the silhouette of a man standing beside those rocks. Garak looked at Odo and saw him jerk his head. So that was how Odo planned getting out of the Forge. He had backup. Garak gave the man in the distance another, closer look. He had a creeping suspicion he knew who that backup might be. It took them only a few minutes to reach Odo’s accomplice. As it turned out, Garak’s intuition had been right.

“Gentlemen,” Sloan greeted them pleasantly as they walked the last few steps toward him. He was leaning casually against the side of a large rock, giving Odo a nod of acknowledgement before turning to Garak, looking him up and down with a grin.

“Mr. Garak, what a pleasure to see you again. Your last stay as my guest ended somewhat abruptly, so I’m really looking forward to continuing our fascinating discussions.”

Once again Garak felt absolutely no temptation to come up with a witty answer. Why was it that all their best-laid plans always backfired? Why was it always him that got caught? The utter unfairness was grating on his nerves; even worse, it was slowly wearing him down, and that was just unforgivable. He would’ve liked to rant at a universe that was treating him so maliciously. Instead he resigned himself to a sulky look.

It made Sloan break out into loud laughter. Garak had despised the man before, but now he promised himself he would kill him, preferably as slowly as possible.

***

Vulcan, T’Karath

“We have to organize a search!” Kira demanded.

After she had arrived back at T’Karath, she had immediately stormed off in search of T’Pel, finding her in her office together with Bashir and Pavale.

“We’ve followed their tracks to a place east of Mount Seleya. They had a run-in with a pair of sehlats there, but managed to kill both. There were marks from a shuttle that had landed nearby, which means someone picked them up,” Kira said. She felt slightly breathless.

“Sehlats?” Bashir threw in, his face showing his concern.

Impatiently Kira shook her head. “As I said, they got away,” she told him curtly before turning back to T’Pel whose face was grave, her expression as worried as Kira had ever seen on the woman’s face.

“As I’ve told Bashir and Pavale already,” T’Pel said. “I’ve already ordered a widespread search to determine where they are now. In fact we already have a first lead where they might be,” She raised a hand as if to stall any further questions. “However, there have been new developments on a far larger scale that need to be considered. Come with me. We need to talk about this.” She turned and strode out of her office without giving any of them a chance to comment or protest.

Kira looked at Bashir and Pavale, but both of them only shrugged their shoulders. Resignedly Kira muttered, “Fine. Come on and let’s hear what she has to say.”

T’Pel led them to a large conference room. A group of maybe twenty Vulcans was already gathered inside, all of them standing on the other side of the room where a large vid-screen was mounted. T’Pel beckoned Kira and the others to follow her, and they moved through the small crowd until they had a clear view of the screen. Kira saw that it was a Vulcan newsfeed.

A representative of the Vulcan government was delivering a statement, and though they’d obviously missed the beginning, his words immediately became clear.

“The by no means justified blockade of our system by Starfleet forces as well as contingents of Dominion ships has been only the first of a series of provocations aimed to achieve one goal – the suppression of Vulcan’s voice, a voice that has always been respected and held in high esteem among the members of the Federation. It has been the voice of reason and logic, a voice that is even more important in the troubled times of conflict and war than it is in times of peace.

“Yet the aforementioned blockade, while being a disgrace for everyone involved in its implementation, obviously isn’t enough. The Vulcan High Council now finds itself confronted with accusations of sedition. We find ourselves denunciated, thought to be in league with terrorists and criminals. We reject these allegations categorically.

“Our integrity remains intact. It is the integrity of the Federation and its Council that is giving us grave cause for doubt, however. While it has been stated by said Council that it doesn’t wish to solve our recent disagreements by resorting to military force, how else should we interpret the amassing of Starfleet and Dominion ships in the direct vicinity of Vulcan’s solar system?

“How should we interpret these fleet movements in any other way than as preparations for an invasion? Such an act of aggression would go against everything the Federation stands for, what it has stood for in the past, and what it should stand for in the future. We advise you to consider your next steps very carefully. Be warned, though. Should you decide to continue on the path you have chosen, we will fight you on every turn. We will not back down and our voice will not be silenced. It has been raised and heard long before Human minds even considered the possibility of venturing out into space. It will be heard still when you as a people are long gone.”

T’Pel turned the sound off as another Vulcan appeared on the screen. She didn’t say anything as she slowly turned around to face Kira, Pavale, and Bashir.

It was Bashir who finally broke the silence. “That it has come to this,” he said, his words coming out slowly and haltingly. He sounded like a man in shock, one who literally couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “What was the Federation Council’s response?” he asked.

T’Pel’s face turned impassive as she said, “So far there hasn’t been one.”

“That’s not a good sign,” Kira interjected. “I’ve experienced that so often. Once the talking stops the violence begins and generally speaking, that’s when everything starts to spiral out of control.” Kira couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Vulcans. She knew exactly what she was talking about. Her own planet’s recent history was riddled with conflict and bloodshed, mostly thanks to the Cardassians. The Vulcans, however, had enjoyed the luxury of peace for so long that the open aggression now looming at their doorstep must be quite a shock.

“Can you show us the blockade as well as those fleets they’ve drawn together?” Pavale asked. She seemed to be the one who was least affected by the dire news T’Pel had shown them.

T’Pel nodded and brought up a star chart of Vulcan’s solar system and its immediate vicinity. The blockade consisted of Starfleet ships strategically positioned to prevent any departures or arrivals of ships, effectively isolating the planet. The larger threat, though, was positioned farther out. There two large fleets lay in waiting, like two packs of predators, lurking to move in for the kill whenever the signal was given.

“These are two distinctively separate fleets,” Pavale stated. “I had expected a joined force. I wonder if that’s a good or a bad sign,” she said, her expression thoughtful.

“Whatever it means, it’s not really important to us,” Kira said. While all this news about Vulcan and the Federation certainly was important, she thought it didn’t make such a big difference for their own mission. If that thought made her seem callous then so be it. She sympathized with the Vulcans, but her priority was getting the _Scarab_ off the planet. As far as she could see, there still wasn’t any alternative to their original plan. Granted, it might’ve become much more difficult now, but she’d rather die trying than getting caught up in a possible invasion of Vulcan.

“You said you knew where they are keeping Garak.” Kira decided it was time to return to the things that were the most pertinent for her and her team.

T’Pel’s disapproval was unmistakable, but without another comment she brought up a map of a city. “We believe he was taken to Starfleet Headquarters at ShiKahr,” she answered.

“Not again,” Pavale all but groaned, drawing a momentarily puzzled frown from T’Pel. She looked at Kira and the others, but no one offered an explanation.

“We’ve sprung him out of one, we can spring him out of another,” Kira said grimly.

Now T’Pel’s expression changed from puzzlement to acute alarm.

Raising her hands imploringly, she said, “That’s out of the question. Vulcan isn’t Bajor, and you can’t just attack the complex. We’ll find a more subtle way of retrieving him. The V’Shar will see to it. You will stay here and finish the last repairs on the _Scarab,_ so that when the right time comes you can leave without any delays.”

Kira instantly hated that plan. She didn’t want to sit back and wait while others attempted a rescue. That had been the reason why she’d joined Garak and the others in their attempt to trap that Founder. She just wasn’t good at waiting. Her promise to Bashir came to her mind, telling him she’d make dead certain that their group wouldn’t get separated again. She hadn’t kept that promise for more than a couple of days, and the bitter reality churned. The nod of acknowledgement she gave T’Pel cost her a lot. She studiously avoided looking at Bashir, not wanting to see his distress and disappointment at her failure.


	10. Chapter 10

Vulcan, ShiKahr

Sloan was pleased that for once everything seemed to go according to plan.

The shuttle ride from the Forge to Starfleet HQ passed uneventfully and mostly in silence. Sloan had handcuffed the Cardassian and shoved him into a passenger seat. He had watched with some amusement as the Founder chose a seat directly beside him. Settling himself into the pilot’s seat, Sloan had done a minimal pre-flight check before launching the shuttle to get back to ShiKahr. Soon air control questioned him about his obvious deviation from his original flight plan. He informed them about a minor engine malfunction that had forced him to land, but that he had managed to repair on his own. However, he had chosen to return to ShiKahr instead of continuing for his original destination. Air control accepted his explanation without a question.

With some time on his hands, Sloan asked the Founder to give him a brief summary of what had happened after he had found the hideout. He thought it wise to get as much information out of the Founder as possible. To Sloan’s surprise the Founder seemed willing enough, even if the information he could provide wasn’t worth much. Thankfully the Cardassian remained silent during their flight. Sloan had no patience for dealing with the man at the moment. There would be ample opportunity later.

Upon their arrival at Starfleet HQ, a security detail was already waiting for them. They took the Cardassian into custody, but asked both Sloan and the Dominion’s envoy to follow them, too. The Founder reacted with obvious irritation that got even worse when the security men proceeded to search them for weapons and confiscated his phaser. He was only slightly mollified when he saw that Sloan wasn’t exempt from the search. _So far so good_ , Sloan thought. _Now we only have to make sure he doesn’t bolt before it’s too late_.

They were escorted to a security block on one of the lower levels of the building, where the Cardassian and the Founder were both shoved into adjoining holding cells. Sloan was pleased with the way the security detail handled it. They acted so fast that even the Founder’s inhumanly fast reflexes couldn’t save him. He obviously hadn’t seen this coming.

Once inside his cell, he stood motionless for a moment, before turning around to face Sloan. Crossing his arms over his chest, he scoffed derisively, and said, “You’re making a grave mistake, Sloan. I despise traitors.” He gave Sloan a stern look. “Solids.” he continued, uttering the word like a curse. “You’ve always been a threat to us, and once again you’ve proven the point.” He turned his back to Sloan. Apparently he had nothing more to say.

***

“Those damn Founders!”

Had the situation been less grave, Sloan would’ve laughed at the statement. It so perfectly mirrored Odo’s earlier one. Sloan remained silent, though. He knew the admiral well enough to give him the necessary time to vent his anger before they continued with the more pertinent part of their communication. Lately it seemed that Ross was more and more prone to lose his temper. Seeing him in this kind of state was a sure indicator that the situation was grim.

“They are trying to force our hand, and they are less than subtle about it, threatening to move in on Vulcan should we decide not to do so first,” Ross said.

Sloan shifted in his seat, coughing discreetly. “And are we letting ourselves be forced?” he asked.

The look Ross shot him would’ve made lesser men whimper in terror. Sloan only reacted by giving the Admiral a conciliatory smile.

“We won’t allow them to provoke us, not here, not on what is practically our home turf. Right now there are ‘talks’ going on.” The admiral’s lips curled at those words, making it patently clear how little he thought of such an endeavor and its chances for success. “You make sure you’re providing us with the evidence that’s needed.”

“What about the Founder?” Sloan asked.

“What about him? We all know that he safely returned to the Gamma Quadrant.” Ross shook his head. “I don’t care about the Founder. Just see to it that you get that Cardassian talking. We need irrefutable proof of Vulcan’s involvement in those terrorist activities to present it before the Federation Council,” Ross replied.

This was a sore spot in Sloan’s mind. Very carefully phrasing his next words, he said, “Ah, yes, the Cardassian. There we might have a slight problem, Sir. I’ve had a short discussion with Commodore Haines before I left for the Forge. He’s turned out to be somewhat…rigid in his understanding of what methods are eligible when interrogating a prisoner.”

Ross waved his hand impatiently. “Don’t bother me with inconsequentialities, Sloan. Just see that the job is done.”

***

Vulcan, T’Karath

A whole day passed with nothing much happening. The blockade around Vulcan remained in place. The Federation and Dominion fleets held their positions. The politicians and diplomats tried and failed talking to each other. Bashir found the whole situation unbearable. He had spent the day listening to news reports, trying to determine what exactly was going on, or pestering T’Pel about how and when that plan to get Garak out of Starfleet’s HQ would finally be set into motion. In between he had packed the few belongings in their room and brought them on board the _Scarab_.

The next morning he was almost ready to beg for something to do. Therefore when Kira’s call came, he was ready to kiss her, well almost. He thought he might not survive the attempt. She told him that the _Scarab’s_ repairs were finally complete and that they had planned a last systems check. They could use his help at tactical.

He had practically sprinted to the _Scarab’s_ hangar, glad to do something useful that would stop him from worrying. He was scared for Garak. Yesterday they had received confirmation that Garak was indeed being held at Starfleet HQ. It had also been confirmed that the Dominion’s envoy was being held there as a prisoner. Responsible for both was Sloan.

Bashir didn’t want to think about Sloan. In his mind the man had turned into the personification of true evil. Bashir vividly remembered the state Garak had been in after his rescue on Bajor. He also remembered his own interrogation. While Sloan hadn’t so much as laid a finger on him, Bashir was all too aware that it had been only the Vulcans presence that had prevented Sloan from trying anything.

“Julian, focus!”

Pavale’s sharp command harshly snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up at her, giving her a rueful smile, and concentrated on the tactical station’s displays. Pavale had asked him to take over Garak’s station, while Pavale and Kira stood at their usual stations. They’d been conducting these tests for a couple of hours now. Although Bashir had been grateful for the diversion at first, he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate as the day dragged on. He forcibly reined himself in. He knew that his fretting was useless. Right now he couldn’t do anything but wait and prepare, but it was so hard. “All systems check out fine,” he said, his fingers calling up all the major routines, checking for any irregularities, his eyes scanning the data scroll.

A light touch on his arm startled him out of his newfound concentration. He hadn’t noticed Kira coming over to him. “I’m sorry, Julian. We’ll get him back, I promise,” she muttered, and with a final reassuring squeeze she returned back to her command station.

They continued their tests, and for a while Bashir actually managed to lose himself in the constant back and forth of questions and answers, immersing himself in the flow of their shared work.

***

Vulcan, ShiKahr

He had wasted a whole day! He had wasted a whole day, and where had it led him? Nowhere! Sloan was fuming.

Once again he was staring at the screen of his communication’s terminal. He was having such a strong sense of déjà vu, watching exactly the same group of people: Ross, the other admirals and that Federation Council advisor he had talked to the last time. When had that been? Half a lifetime ago, or yesterday? However long it had been, they were once again asking him exactly the same questions, coming up with the same objections as the last time.

“No, Admiral,” he said. “I haven’t been able to get any conclusive evidence from the terrorist we’re holding, and working under the current restrictions, I don’t expect I will.” He allowed himself to show the tiniest amount of frustration, but refrained from speaking more openly. Especially since the Council and its advisors sometimes reacted with needless fussiness when confronted with some of the messier facts of life.

They were comfortable living in the paradise the Federation had created for them, but couldn’t deal with the fact that for every paradise someone somewhere had to pay the price. It was Sloan’s job to deal with the dirty side. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again.

“Considering the circumstances, we can be certain of governmental involvement. His whole fabrication of being a lone survivor and finding refuge by mere chance doesn’t merit a single thought. He was practically laughing at me while he was spinning that tale of his,” Sloan continued.

“What has the Founder told you?” Ross asked.

Sloan sighed. “Since we’ve arrived here, not very much obviously. Locking him up has put a bit of a dampener on our ongoing partnership. Before, he had confirmed my suspicion that the situation he had found the Cardassian in had been a setup, meant to flush him out after he had allegedly left Vulcan. He had discovered not only one guard, but a whole security contingent ready to capture or kill him.

“It’s obvious that the Vulcans are playing with us, Admiral. They might insist on their wish for a diplomatic and peaceful solution, but behind our backs they are traitors. There’s no other word to describe their actions. They’re actively undermining all we’ve worked for so hard in the last years. They present an incalculable risk to our treaty with the Dominion. After carefully assessing the situation here, it’s my firm belief that we can’t allow them to continue.”

Sloan paused, wanting to see how the men in front of him reacted to his words. He had no illusions about his own importance here, or the weight of his words. He hoped, though, that he could at least sway their opinion enough to make them take a more decisive stance and quit their policy of overcautious maneuvering. Judging by the expressions he saw in their faces, they were still undecided. The Federation Council’s advisor was the first to voice his doubts.

“We will certainly take your ‘beliefs’ into consideration. I think it’s clear to everyone that the Vulcans are following their own agenda here, though we don’t know exactly what that might be, or what they hope to accomplish by destabilizing our coalition with the Dominion. They are no fools. They know full well, how costly if not outright disastrous, an open conflict with the Dominion would be for us.

“On the other hand we have to consider the prominent role Vulcan has played all throughout the Federation’s history. Using force to bring them back into the fold might be just the signal for other members, who in the last years have shown tendencies of, let’s say, a certain uneasiness regarding our current policies toward the Dominion and our own position and goals in the Alpha Quadrant. Whatever we do, we have to carefully weigh all the facts before we take any course of action.

“You know me,” the advisor said, now solely addressing the admirals in his company and ignoring Sloan almost completely. “I’m the last to shy away from making an unpopular decision if I deem it necessary, but the stakes are very high here, and our verdict must reflect that. It is both our responsibility and our privilege.”

His words were followed by a few hesitant nods. Admiral Ross was the first to speak after him, and his words seemed to sum up the whole group’s shift to once again postpone a definite decision. “For now, we won’t do anything else, but enforce the blockade. An actual occupation of Vulcan is still out of the question. It will be our priority to deal with the Dominion’s fleet for now.” The admiral was speaking just to his peers and the advisor. Had Sloan not understood that already, it would’ve become absolutely clear when the Admiral gave nothing more than a dismissive nod in Sloan’s direction before cutting the transmission without so much as a ‘Thank you’.

For a while Sloan simply sat in front of the now blank screen of his communications terminal. He was disappointed. This hadn’t gone as he had expected. He had been aware that his inability to produce proof of the Vulcans’ sedition would be a problem, but it now seemed that even if he unearthed that proof, those in charge wouldn’t act on it. During his first conversation with this group, Sloan had assumed that it had been Ross’ initiative that had brought them together. He had assumed that Ross was following the same reasoning as Sloan that the Federation needed to take a more decisive stance in this matter.

Now, however, he had the feeling that Ross had used him. Ross had used him to reaffirm the status quo. He had used Sloan to keep this policy of neither fish nor flesh the Federation had become so fond of in recent years. Sloan wondered why. He had come to know the admiral as someone who was absolutely down-to-earth and resolute in his decisions. That kind of preachy speech he had given at the end of the transmission hadn’t sounded like him at all.

He considered calling the admiral again. He could ask Ross to intervene on his behalf concerning the Cardassian’s interrogation. He could try to find out what Ross was planning. He didn’t want to believe that nothing should come out of all the efforts he had made to strengthen his point. Vulcan needed to be controlled; that much his stay here had made perfectly clear to him. He doubted that the blockade would help significantly in achieving that goal. No, there was really no alternative but to assume that control down here. Now, if he only could come up with a plan to bring that about.

He decided on not calling the admiral again.

***

Vulcan, ShiKahr, Starfleet HQ

Garak was slowly but irrevocably growing bored. For hours he had stared at the corridor in front of his cell. All he could see there was a patch of floor and the opposite wall, both completely unadorned. The most interesting thing in his sight was the better half of a uniform clad left leg that belonged to a Starfleet security guard standing sentry somewhere to the side of Garak’s cell.

He had spent a whole day being interrogated by Sloan. The interrogation had been as tiresome as it had been frustrating for both of them. Again and again they’d circled around the same subjects: Garak insisting on his, admittedly highly unlikely, story of being a disoriented survivor of the _Scarab’s_ crash that had found shelter with some hospitable eremites in the Forge, and Sloan again and again pressing him to reveal the suspected conspiracy between the Vulcan government and Garak’s own terrorist movement.

It had soon become obvious that Sloan operated under much stricter guidelines regarding the allowed methods of interrogation than he had on Bajor. Once Garak had determined that, he had relaxed considerably. He had even started to find the whole situation moderately entertaining, though one worry had remained prominent in his mind. Why exactly had they imprisoned the Founder? The question bothered him so much he had spent all the time since the end of his interrogation pondering the possible answers. He had assumed that Sloan and Odo were working together here, but if they ever had their alliance had clearly ended upon arrival at Starfleet HQ.

Knowing that Odo was safely under lock and key was reassuring. It meant that as long as the Founder remained here, he couldn’t try meddling with the V’Shar, T’Karath and the _Scarab._ That was a definite plus, and if Garak had to choose between Sloan and Odo, Sloan was definitely the lesser evil to put up with.

A very faint sound in the corridor caught his attention. It was a sound that spoke of wetness and the slashing of flesh. It was a sound Garak knew only too well. Someone outside in the corridor had been stabbed and was suffocating on his own blood. Hastily Garak got to his feet and walked over to his cell’s force field, intent to find out what was happening.

What he saw made him step back immediately. Odo was out of his cell. Garak had no idea how, but the Founder was out. He had stabbed the guard and was already in the process of assuming the guard’s form when Garak glanced in his direction.

Right then Odo looked up at him and their eyes met. Casually the Founder stepped in front of Garak’s cell. For a second Odo just stood there and stared at him. Garak stared back. There wasn’t much else he could do at this point. He wondered who might have let the Founder out of his cell. Garak was almost sure this wasn’t an escape Odo had somehow orchestrated himself, but who would profit from having Odo on the loose again? The only person Garak could think of would be another Founder. The thought alone made him shiver.

At last Odo opened his mouth, but then he seemed to change his mind. He didn’t say anything. Instead he aimed a derisive smirk at Garak and strolled away.

Garak sat back down on his cot. For a moment he had thought that Odo would use the opportunity to kill him. Outside in the corridor he could hear soft swishing sounds. It was probably the guard’s body getting dragged out of sight and into Odo’s cell. Garak had no interest in finding out. Instead he tried guessing what Odo would be doing next. _Most likely he’ll try to contact his own people, and won’t that be fun for everyone?_

***

Vulcan, T’Karath

“Come, quickly!” Pavale shouted.

Kira, who’d been idly chatting with Bashir, looked up to see the Romulan standing in the entrance of the canteen. Pavale’s face was flushed as if she’d run a great distance, or was excited for some reason. Without waiting for a reply, she spun around and quickly vanished back into the adjoining corridor.

Kira exchanged a puzzled look with Bashir as they both rose from their seats and followed Pavale. They hadn’t made it halfway through the room when Bashir started to jog. _He’s such a whelp sometimes_ , Kira thought, amused but she lengthened her steps until she was trotting behind him. Once outside they could see Pavale just vanishing around the next corner, but heard her “Conference room, hurry!” quite clearly.

Just like the last time they’d been here together there was already a crowd gathered inside. This time, however, the number of assembled Vulcans was far higher. The room was practically packed. They all stared at the large viewscreen that showed a strategic map of Vulcan’s planetary system. A man’s voice was speaking off-screen, explaining what the map showed, explaining about the blockade and battle fleets and different classes of starships that were signified by different colors.

Pavale had waited for them just inside the conference room. Now she ushered them toward one corner of the room. It took a while for them to politely navigate their way through the throng, but finally they could see T’Pel standing near a communications terminal. Its lit screen showed another Vulcan, a man, clad in a dark grey suit.

“We should expect the worst,” the man was just saying, then stopped as Kira and the others stepped into his field of vision.

T’Pel turned, and seeing them, she gave them a curt nod, motioning them to come closer, before turning back to the terminal. “When should we expect ground forces?” she asked.

“A precise estimate is not possible, but taking the size of the Dominion’s fleet into account it will take less than an hour,” the man replied. “However, we can’t predict which stance the Federation and its ships will take. Will they join the Dominion’s forces? Will they stand by? Will they intervene on our behalf? We don’t know. It is quite possible they don’t know themselves.”

“What about us, Minister?” T’Pel asked again.

“You stay where you are. Whatever happens now, this might be our last chance to send our friends on their way,” the man, no, Kira corrected herself, the minister answered.

“We’re missing one at the moment, but we’re working on that,” T’Pel said, glancing in Kira’s direction.

The man only nodded in acknowledgement. “I will keep you informed about any new developments. You should prepare everything so you will be able to move as quickly as possible when the time is right.” The transmission ended.

For a moment T’Pel stood motionless in front of the terminal as if deep in thought. She looked lost, Kira thought. She could understand the feeling all too well. During most of her lifetime, she’d never experienced a Bajor that was free. First there had been the Cardassian occupation. It had only ended when a threat had arisen, a threat that was new and so intimidating it had forced former enemies to become reluctant allies. Bajor had spent a few precious years of freedom until it had once again been occupied, this time becoming a so called protectorate of the Federation.

At last T’Pel slowly turned, straightening as she did so. She stood very erect, her head held high, her face composed as she said, “I gather the _Scarab_ is ready to leave at a moment’s notice?” At Kira’s nod, she continued, “Good, you might stay here or you might return to your ship to wait there. I leave that up to you. Whatever happens now, we’ll have to wait and see and act the moment a chance presents itself.”

Kira gathered that T’Pel had no inclination of explaining her talk with the minister.

“What about Garak?” Bashir asked.

“He’s still held at Starfleet HQ. As I told the minister, we’re working on that. We have people on the inside, not many mind you, but enough to effect his escape given the right circumstances. It’s the time factor that is problematic. It might not be possible to get Garak here in time. It won’t be ideal, but if necessary, you’ll need to leave without him,” T’Pel answered.

Kira had expected her words, yet the mulish expression on Bashir’s face made it clear what he thought of T’Pel’s decision. He looked ready to protest. Kira reached over to him, her hand circling his wrist. “We understand, T’Pel. Nevertheless, flying the _Scarab_ with just the three of us is a damn near impossibility. If there’s no other way we’ll try, of course, but considering what depends on it we should do everything to get him back and on board,” she said.

She looked at Bashir at her side, trying to project an air of confidence she wished she honestly felt. His returning smile was a bit lopsided and a little sad, but he seemed to accept her reasoning.

***

Vulcan, ShiKahr

Garak had hoped that things would finally quicken up after Odo had left. So he wasn’t surprised when he first heard footsteps approaching and then stopping abruptly. After no more than a second’s delay a loud alarm started blaring.

Obviously someone had discovered the dead security guard. After Odo had left, Garak had considered raising the alarm himself, had considered the advantages doing so might give him, but in the end he had decided against it. He was still confident that the V’Shar would try to get him out of here as fast as possible.

For one, he was an essential member of the _Scarab’s_ crew. Replacing him would be difficult if not impossible. More importantly, however, he was a grave security risk to the V’Shar. It would be catastrophic if his knowledge of the V’Shar’s involvement in their plans concerning the Gamma Quadrant and the Founders fell into the wrong hands. They might trust him enough that he wouldn’t divulge any information willingly. He certainly had no plans in that direction, quite the contrary, but he knew that everyone could be broken. It was just a matter of applying the right methods. He was sure the V’Shar was aware of it, too.

Two guards had taken up position in front of his cell, giving him hard looks. Both were equipped with phaser rifles, held at the ready and most likely configured to allow for phaser sweeps that would flush out their escaped Founder should he still be in the building. Garak returned their stares with a sardonic smile.

“Mr. Garak.” It was Sloan who had stopped in front of Garak’s cell.

“Lost something?” Garak quipped.

“So it seems,” Sloan answered. “I’m sure, though, that we’ll find Mr. Odo soon enough. I’ve heard the two of you have been close acquaintances in the past.” He smiled knowingly. “Perhaps you’d like to contribute something useful to our search? I imagine you’d rather see him returned to his cell than roaming our HQ. After all he might come around to pay you a visit.”

Garak smiled back and shook his head. “I’m afraid he was rather tight-lipped when he left.” He was slightly annoyed that he had no useful information to withhold, even if Sloan’s assumption had been right. Garak really wanted Odo back in his cell.

Sloan gave a casual shrug before he turned to one of the guards.

“Make sure this one doesn’t get lost too,” he told the man, giving Garak another sideways glance, and walked away.

For a while Garak settled back into his routine of just staring out of his cell. He noticed that there were two uniform-clad legs now, one to the right and one to the left. _Nice symmetry_ , he thought.

To his chagrin he had no idea what was going on outside. He craved new information, and it made him restless. Had Odo managed to communicate with his people? If so, how would the Dominion react? What would the Federation do? What about the Vulcans? Tensions were on the rise; that much was certain. But would they lead to open conflict?

The last few weeks had felt like watching an enormous wave drawing ever closer to the shore, rising ever higher until one had to tilt one’s neck as far back as possible to still see the wave’s crown. Garak didn’t dare to speculate what would happen when the wave finally broke, and it would break, of that he was absolutely sure. He could only hope he and the others would survive the following flood.

His thought of Kira, Pavale and Bashir, wondering what they might be doing right now. Were they plotting his rescue? He was sure that Bashir would be sick with worry by now. The thought had something gratifying about it. It was comforting to know that Bashir cared, even if it wasn’t remotely helpful in Garak’s escape.

This time it was the sound of someone getting stabbed that jerked him out of his reverie, but the sound of several phaser shots. He saw both his guards crumple to the ground. _Odo_ , he thought, and sharp fear lanced through him as a Human, a dark-skinned woman in the red of a commanding officer, stepped in front of his cell.

It was logical that Odo had changed his form. Garak eyed the Founder warily as he fiddled with the controls of the force field on Garak’s cell. The Founder took a step back when it disappeared and gestured impatiently with his phaser.

“Come on, we don’t have much time,” he said hastily.

Garak wouldn’t be so easily fooled. This was such an old one. Create time pressure to prevent your victim from thinking straight. Then trick it into doing something incredibly foolish or dangerous.

“Nice try, Odo,” he said, leaning back against the wall behind him and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Odo frowned at him. Then he seemed to understand what Garak meant. Suddenly he appeared very calm.

“Look, Darling. I appreciate your caution. I might even feel inclined to indulge in your need for reassurance that I’m _not_ a Founder, but I don’t have anything handy for a blood screening, and we really don’t have the time. So get off your ass and follow me. By the way, I imagine Julian might be quite disappointed if you don’t make it out of here. For some reason he’s become quite fond of your little band of rebels. Myself, I can’t say I’m particularly impressed so far.” The woman gave him a derogatory look.

He acted out of impulse and without much thought. Two steps and he was out of the cell. It was satisfying to see her look slightly alarmed at his speed. She clearly wasn’t Odo. Garak bent down and picked up a phaser from one of the stunned guards. When he straightened again, her look of alarm wasn’t completely gone, but now there was an accompanying smirk on her face.

“Follow me,” she said and ran along the corridor.

***

Vulcan, T’Karath

Bashir tried dividing his attention between the large strategic map that was filling the viewscreen of the conference room and the viewscreen of the smaller communications terminal that stood slightly to the side.

The situation seemed to escalate with every passing minute. The Dominion’s fleet was slowly drawing closer to Vulcan now. There were indications of hectic transmissions between the Dominion’s fleet and its Federation counterpart. Unfortunately the transmissions were encrypted, and so far the Vulcans’ attempts at decrypting them had been unsuccessful. It was unclear what exactly was causing both fleets to act like they did, but they were obviously quarrelling. _Like two dogs fighting over a bone,_ Bashir thought. Out of nowhere the image had popped into his mind, unbidden and unpleasant, its implications anything but comforting.

“It’s the Founder,” T’Pel suddenly said, looking up from the communications terminal. Turning toward Bashir and the others, she said, “The Dominion’s envoy, he seems to have escaped. We suspect he’s already made contact with the Dominion fleet.” She pointed toward the slowly moving dots on the map that signified heavy Dominion battle cruisers. “Of course we have no way of knowing exactly what he has told them, but he obviously has convinced them to abandon their policy of letting the Federation handle their internal disagreements on their own.”

Bashir looked at the map again. He felt sick to his stomach at the sight. This was major. Whatever happened next, it would become a pivotal point in history. In his heart he wanted to believe that there was only one way the Federation and Starfleet could react to this provocation. They would come to Vulcan’s aide. His head, though, told him that there was another possible outcome.

Suddenly he remembered something Garak had told him half an eternity ago, back when they still had been on board the _Dagger_. ‘I applaud the Vulcans for their courage,’ Garak had said, and then he had predicted that it would all end in tears. At the time they had been talking about Vulcan’s threat of secession, not the V’Shar’s involvement in overthrowing the Dominion, but in the end it wouldn’t matter what exactly the Vulcans had done or not done, they would suffer for it regardless.

“Any word of your people in Starfleet HQ?” he asked T’Pel.

“Not yet,” T’Pel replied without looking up, her concentration solely focused on her terminal screen and a Vulcan who was giving her another report. She listened for a while. When the transmission ended, she turned again and came over to the three of them.

“It’s unlikely that we’ll hear from the people we’ve sent to rescue Garak before they’ve made it out of ShiKahr, so no news isn’t necessarily bad news, quite the contrary in fact,” she said to Bashir, apparently more willing to elaborate now that she didn’t have to listen to someone else at the same time.

Bashir gave her a grateful smile.

Kira, who’d been intently studying the strategic map during the last minutes, asked, “Has the Vulcan High Council decided what to do?”

At T’Pel’s nod a definite hush fell over the room. Kira’s question had drawn the attention of every Vulcan around them. Everyone wanted to hear T’Pel’s answer. Within seconds there was absolute silence in the room. Looking around, Bashir was startled by the intensity he saw on many faces. It left him feeling slightly uncomfortable. He turned back to T’Pel.

“We will fight.” T’Pel said at last. “It’s a matter of principle, and we intend to make it irrevocably clear that there are some lines that should not and cannot be crossed. Whatever this day’s outcome will be, we will stay true to ourselves and our values.”

“Many will die,” Pavale threw in softly.

“That may be so, but the decision has been made. We won’t yield,” T’Pel replied.

At that moment she seemed to Bashir like the ultimate personification of proud fierceness. It was an illusion of course. Everyone knew that Vulcans merited logic and reason above anything else. They wouldn’t fall for such emotions like pride or fierceness. Still, the idea stuck in his mind. It took him quite some time before he realized that something odd was going on with Kira.

She was standing there, standing very still as she stared at T’Pel, a speculative look on her face, unblinking and with such an air of concentration it was almost frightening. Her voice was very soft when she finally spoke, her tone disbelieving.

“You’re bluffing,” she said, her expression slowly turning accusatory. “You’re bluffing them both, wagering that if push comes to shove, the Federation will finally come around and back you up. You’re—” She paused, raising a finger, pointing it at T’Pel. “You’re insane,” she muttered.

T’Pel slowly shook her head. “No, Kira, relying on the Federation having a change of heart would truly be foolish, but we can hope that some will follow our example. Starfleet captains can be a difficult breed to handle. They show the unfortunate tendency to think for themselves. If enough of them decide to join us in our struggle who knows what might happen? Only one thing is sure. There will be a fight. It will create the perfect distraction to finally send you on your way. Concerning this matter the High Council’s decision was unanimous.”

“I don’t understand,” Pavale threw in. “I thought your government doesn’t know of our plans. How can they make such a decision without knowing?”

T’Pel raised an eyebrow. “Minister Satok informed them, of course.”

“When?” Kira asked.

T’Pel glanced at Bashir. “He spoke to the High Council immediately after our trap for the Founder failed. It seemed an opportune moment,” she answered.

“That must have been fun,” Bashir commented drily.

T’Pel gracefully bowed her head. “I wasn’t present, but I’ve been told that the Council meeting was… intense.” The pause she made before saying the last word made it very clear how much of an understatement her description actually was.

“I’m sure the minister’s life was enriched by the experience,” Bashir replied solemnly. He watched T’Pel closely. He thought he’d almost made her smile.

***

Vulcan, ShiKahr

“Tell me it wasn’t you!” Ross was practically yelling at Sloan, his face red, his expression livid. Sloan stared back at the admiral, stared at the terminal screen in front of him and kept his own expression a perfectly controlled semblance of calm.

“Of course not, Admiral,” he answered, making certain not to overdo the amount of righteous indignation creeping into his voice while doing his best to keep the quiet laughter that filled his mind at bay. He had hardly ever felt so satisfied with himself, but watching a whole series of events unfolding exactly as he had hoped had put him in an exceptionally good mood. Of course he would’ve preferred to reach his goals without utilizing Odo and the Dominion fleet the way he had, but in the end it was the result that mattered.

“We’ll catch that Founder. I give you my word on that, Sir,” Sloan said earnestly. He was just about to continue when an orderly burst into the small conference room Sloan had appropriated for his transmissions with the admiral.

“The Cardassian escaped,” the young woman said, foregoing any proper form of address, her face slightly flushed and her voice breathless. “He was sprung by a group of Starfleet officers, and they’ve almost made it to the shuttle hangar.” She stared at Sloan, but stopped when she noticed the admiral glaring back at her from the terminal screen. She blushed fiercely at his apparent anger.

Sloan gave her a dismissive nod, and watched her fleeing the room. Turning back to the admiral, he said, “That wasn’t my doing either, Sir.”

The admiral waved at him impatiently. “Yes, yes, I get it Sloan, but nonetheless it’s your mess. See that you clear it up! Right now, I don’t have anything else for you, so get to it.” He cut the connection without another word.


	11. Chapter 11

Vulcan, ShiKahr, Starfleet HQ

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think your escape plan is slightly faulty,” Garak muttered. He was pressed tightly against La Forge’s side as the two of them crouched behind a supply crate that was barely wide enough to provide sufficient cover for one of them, let alone both. La Forge threw him a dirty look, but refrained from commenting.

They had arrived here after a mad rush through the building. As it had turned out, she as well as her colleague, Captain Solok of the _T’Kumbra,_ had been freed only minutes before Garak. In all fairness their plan hadn’t been that bad. It was a group of three Vulcans, all of them serving at Starfleet HQ in lower functions, that had sprung them out. They had managed to sabotage enough of the building’s security systems to give them a realistic chance of making it to the shuttle platform on the roof. From there they’d have a bundle of options where to go.

Unfortunately something must’ve gone wrong. Either their escape in progress had been discovered far sooner than they’d allowed for in their planning or something else had gone awry. Whatever it was, it had left them pinned down here, having come under heavy fire from at least two security details blocking them off from the doors leading out and onto the roof. They were so close. Those doors were practically beckoning at them from the other side of the hall.

They needed a way to break the impasse, Garak thought. The question was how to achieve that without getting shot. They were overpowered at least three to one, and one of their rescuers had already been wounded, cradling his left shoulder where a phaser shot had hit him.

“We need a distraction,” Garak said, “Any ideas?” He watched La Forge roll her eyes, but then she stopped and nodded sharply. Wordlessly she started to turn around. That was not a wise idea in Garak’s opinion. The way they were practically joined at the hip - not to mention other places he really didn’t want to think about – meant that her turning around was an embarrassingly awkward and highly dangerous affair. He really couldn’t give her more room or he would risk losing his cover.

He had no idea what she was up to, but giving her the benefit of a doubt, he refrained from any sniping comments about wandering hands and the inappropriateness of the situation and suffered more or less in silence. He tried keeping his focus on firing at the security guards, even if there wasn’t much hope of hitting anyone. In contrast to themselves, the security details were hiding behind a row of large consoles, their functions not discernible to Garak. Whatever they were, they offered excellent cover.

After what felt like an eternity La Forge had finally managed to complete her maneuver. She was now sitting with her back to the crate with Garak kneeling over her. At least his new position allowed him to take better aim without risking to get hit. He fired a handful of shots before ducking down again. A fleeting touch to his chest made him look down at La Forge. She was furiously working on her phaser, her tongue sticking out between her teeth.

“Overload?” he asked.

She briefly looked up at him, her face grim. “Just to be clear here, I really don’t want to do this. I don’t care about the big picture. I’m Starfleet; those people on the other side of the room are Starfleet, too.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “There are lots of power couplings running through these consoles,” she said softly and returned to her work.

Garak waited a couple of seconds before he asked, “What’s taking you so long?”

It earned him an exasperated look, but just as she opened her mouth to answer, probably to deliver more drivel about Starfleet ethics, her rigged phaser started emitting a low humming sound, a red bar flashing at its side.

She thrust it at him. “Wait till the flashing stops and then throw.”

He stared at her, wondering if she was about to blow them all up.

“Aren’t we a little too close?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said, smiling grimly. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her, she added, “Tell me, do Cardassians believe in an after-life?”

He snorted, not taking his eyes off the phaser, not deigning her question worth an answer. The flashing stopped, and the humming changed register to a much higher whine. Leaning as far back as he dared under the circumstances, he pulled his arm back and threw, aiming carefully so that the phaser would drop behind the console and not by any chance hit the wall and bounce back to drop in front of it.

For a second the phaser fire coming from the security details stopped. He grabbed La Forge and pulled her close. That way they would be able to shield each other, even if the cover provided was minimal. He thought he could hear a soft curse uttered into the sudden silence right before the phaser exploded.

Everything whitened out for a second. Then it suddenly transformed into a world of heat and noise. When the pressure wave hit, it hurled him and La Forge through the hall along with the crate they’d been hiding behind. Debris hit them, battering them and causing a multitude of pinprick injuries as sharp splinters to slice through their clothes and break their skin. Garak heard screams and shouts. He had tried to roll with the pressure wave. He tried to curl around the woman in his arms as best as he could, struggling to cover his face, his head, the most vulnerable parts of his body.

He yelped when his back hit a wall, and he let go of La Forge. He felt her move away instantly, but right now he couldn’t care less. He just wanted to lie still for a while. Almost afraid of what he might find, he slowly began taking an internal inventory, feeling for injuries and broken bones. He still hadn’t come to a definite conclusion when he a hand gripped his wrist. Apparently someone was trying to check his pulse

“Hey, you okay?” La Forge asked.

He opened an eye and glared at her.

She patted his shoulder. To his surprise it didn’t hurt.

“Come on. We’re still escaping, remember?” La Forge said, sounding far too cheerful in his opinion.

Grunting and growling, he slowly clambered to his feet. “I’m too old for this,” he murmured, but only shook his head at her questioning look when she didn’t catch his words. “I’m fine,” he answered. “What about the others?”

Together they checked, discovering to their relief that while all of them had suffered cuts and bruises, no one appeared to be seriously injured. Pulling everyone to their feet, they wasted no time rushing toward the doors of the shuttle platform. Garak only hoped they wouldn’t meet any further resistance there.

This time they were lucky, and splitting up into two groups, they headed for the nearest parked shuttles. La Forge and Solok would take one. The two of them would try to reach the _Hera_ and the _T’Kumbra_ still in orbit around Vulcan. Garak was supposed to accompany the three Vulcans to wherever they were going, La Forge told him, rolling her eyes at her words. “Don’t ask _me_ what that means. I’m just a lowly starship captain. I’m not being told anything.” She flashed him a grin. “Good luck, and tell Julian to be careful.”

Wordlessly Garak shook her hand. He didn’t believe in luck, but he was sure Silva La Forge wouldn’t need any on her way.

***

Vulcan, T’Karath

This was madness. Kira stared at the strategic map still displayed on the conference room’s viewscreen. The picture it presented was frightening. To someone not experienced in reading this kind of map the display might’ve looked simply confusing. Apparently Vulcan had acquired different sets of rings in the last hour. Its orbit was now packed with ships, both from the Federation and the Dominion. So far no one had fired at anyone, but it was clear that it was only a matter of time before that happened.

The Vulcan High Council had repeated its decision to open fire on any ship that dared enter Vulcan’s atmosphere without express permission. A Vorta representative in turn had stated the Dominion’s intent to dissolve this conflict between Vulcan and the Federation by any means necessary, making it clear that the Dominion’s patience with these squabbles between solids was at an end. The Federation had been busy, dishing out demands to both, insisting that the Dominion fleet stand down, and demanding the Vulcans give up their foolish act of misguided pride.

The whole situation was fast tumbling toward disaster. It reminded Kira so much of Bajor; it made her heart ache. It made her want to turn away so she wouldn’t have to watch, but of course that wasn’t possible. It wouldn’t have been right, and so she continued watching. She was barely aware of Bashir and Pavale standing nearby. She had eyes only for the map and the tragedy it displayed.

It came as no surprise that it was the Dominion fleet that opened fire first, delivering a salvo of phaser fire intended to take out one piece of Vulcan’s planetary defense system. The defense system came to life immediately, returning the fire. Within seconds the first few shots had turned into a full-fledged battle. Kira felt her stomach twist.

“Kira,” T’Pel called out. The Vulcan was still standing in front of her communications terminal instead of the large screen, receiving reports and check-ins by so many people, Kira had at some point started to ignore what was going on there.

Now T’Pel had once again turned around to them. “Get to the _Scarab_ , and get her ready. I’ll contact you when its time. It won’t be long now,” T’Pel said.

Kira nodded, feeling equally relieved and guilty to be free of her self-imposed duty of watching. Reaching out, she touched Pavale’s sleeve, Bashir’s shoulder, and when they had their attention, she simply jerked her head. She saw the doubt in Bashir’s eyes, and it was for his sake that she turned to T’Pel again and asked, “Any word from Garak?”

T’Pel shook her head. “I’ll let you know the instant I hear anything, now go!” Her voice was terse, brooking no argument.

The three of them headed out of the conference room. Reaching the corridor, they hastened toward the _Scarab’s_ cavern-hangar. It didn’t take more than a handful of minutes and they were on board the _Scarab_ , rushing onto her bridge and powering up her systems.

***

Vulcan, ShiKahr, Starfleet HQ

Sloan couldn’t believe it. It actually seemed as if the Federation was willing to draw back. What kind of brainless bureaucrats had taken over the decision making, he wondered. So far he had divided his attention between following the escape attempt on the headquarters’ rooftop, coordinating the search for the Founder he had personally set loose on Vulcan, and following the unfolding events in Vulcan’s orbit.

Now the rapidly escalating battle took up all his attention. He was furious, speechless at the sheer idiocy of whoever had ordered the Federation’s fleet to draw back and stay out of the battle. This definitely wasn’t the time to play it safe, he wanted to shout.

Of course, he did nothing of the kind. Outwardly Sloan was the cool and calm professional he had always aspired to be. Carefully he considered his options. Ross had ordered Sloan to clean up his mess, but where to start now? He walked over to the large panoramic window that dominated one side of the conference room and let his eyes wander over the city below him. Strategically speaking it was time to regroup and revise his plans. He sighed, his decision made. _Time to cut your losses_ , he thought and turned, moving back to the communications terminal. He sat down in front of it and sent out a signal. Had anyone taken notice of his actions right now, they most certainly would’ve been surprised if not downright alarmed at the identity of the man he was about to contact.

An image formed on his terminal screen, slowly solidifying into the features of a man that was eerily familiar to him, even if he had never met this particular model: blue eyes, pale skin, a head covered by thick and curly dark hair.

“Weyoun, my friend,” Sloan said by way of greeting, smiling widely as he took in the Vorta’s surprise. The Sloan watched it slowly transform into the false and oily smile he had seen far too often in the past months. _Time to chat up my least favorite Vorta_ , Sloan thought.

***

Vulcan, the Forge

After he had been politely but resolutely ushered into one of their shuttle’s passenger seats in the back, Garak had resigned himself to sitting there in silence while they flew out to the Forge. Distractedly he watched the Vulcan desert landscape streak by his window. They were almost halfway to T’Karath already, and so far they hadn’t any trouble with Vulcan air control or any pursuers. It was a pleasant surprise, though it left Garak suspicious about this lack of monitoring.

Not long now and they would enter the region of the Forge. Garak couldn’t wait. He would be able to call T’Karath then and let the others know that he was all right and on his way. He wished the three Vulcans occupying the shuttle’s front were a bit more communicative. He had tried to coax at least some information out of them. He wanted to know what had happened during his time at Starfleet HQ, but for whatever reasons the Vulcans had treated the events of the last two days like a state secret. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t get the information once they’d reached T’Karath. Still, the Vulcans remained adamant.

He watched the three, wondering why they felt slightly odd to him. There was the one with the injured shoulder. He had proven to be the most affable of the trio. Shortly after they’d taken off, he had offered Garak a canteen of water and a ration bar before sitting down to let one of his colleagues tend to his shoulder.

The other two, though, seemed to be even more reserved than any Vulcan Garak had met at T’Karath. Maybe they belonged to one of those strange Vulcan cults T’Pel had talked about, Garak mused.

“Have we reached the Forge yet?” he asked them, mostly because he wanted to hear them talk again. There was something particularly odd about their speech pattern.

Unfortunately it was the affable one who answered. “We will be entering the Forge in less than ten minutes. Once we have entered the area, I’m going to contact T’Karath and inform them of our imminent arrival,” he said.

“Thank you,” Garak answered, and he meant it. He put the puzzle of the two strange Vulcans out of his mind. Most likely he was just seeing things. He still had an insistent ringing in his ears from the explosion.

***

Vulcan, T’Karath

Practically ripping her headset from her head, Kira gave Garak a wide smile when he finally rushed onto the _Scarab’s_ bridge. T’Pel had contacted the _Scarab’s_ bridge only minutes earlier that he was on his way to T’Karath, and since then Kira had counted the seconds. They were doing the last pre-launch checks with her and Pavale at their usual stations and Bashir manning tactical again. He was efficient, no doubt about it, but she longed to see Garak there.

Garak looked rather the worse for wear. One side of his face sported a large bruise. His hands showed multiple lacerations, and his clothes looked like he’d had a rather unfortunate encounter with a shrub, one of the very thorny variety. The way he beamed at them all, though, made it clear how little her cared about his current state of disarray. His smile didn’t even falter when Bashir practically threw himself at the Cardassian, giving him a fast hug before stepping back again.

Kira saw the two men grin widely at each other. Then Bashir made a curious little bow and gestured at Garak’s station invitingly. “Welcome back,” he said.

“Good to _have_ you back,” Kira joined in. “You’ve really cut a fine line. We’re only waiting for T’Pel’s clearance for take-off,” she couldn’t resist adding.

“It’s good to _be_ back,” he answered, stepping behind his station. “And believe me, no one is more tired of Starfleet’s security architecture by now than I. Humans just have no sense for aesthetics.” He paused, looking over at Bashir. “Present company excepted, of course.”

Bashir, who now manned communication, only snorted in response.

“Where’s Pavale?” Garak asked.

“She’s spending a final moment of communion with the Scarab’s main engine,” Bashir answered.

Kira couldn’t help but smile at his comment. Pavale had indeed showed some uncharacteristic last time jitters, telling them she would be back within a few minutes before rushing off to the Scarab’s engine room. She was already slightly overdue, but Kira decided against calling her back to the bridge. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt,

“Contact T’Pel,” she said to Bashir.

When he nodded at her affirmatively, Kira spoke using the _Scarab’s_ intercom. “T’Pel, we’re ready to leave. What’s going on out there?”

T’Pel’s voice answered over the bridge’s speakers. “So far, the situation remains unchanged. Let’s keep this channel open. I’ll feed you all our available information as it comes in.”

As T’Pel spoke, Kira saw Pavale coming back onto the bridge. Walking past Garak, she patted him on the shoulder before she manned her station.

Kira put her headset back on. She saw Bashir do the same while Pavale and Garak linked the data feed to their station’s displays. As T’Pel had said little had changed since Kira, Bashir and Pavale had left the conference room. The Dominion fleet was still engaged in fighting Vulcan’s planetary defense system.

One change had taken place, though. A small group of new ships had joined the conflict. They were clearly recognizable as Vulcan ships, not Starfleet vessels, probably belonging to the remnants of a once much larger Vulcan fleet that had been mostly dismantled when Starfleet took over its role. Their purpose was mainly exploratory these days.

They were relatively small. Most of them apparently hadn’t any heavy weaponry, but as if they were dead-set on proving that there was more to this fight than brute force, they were going after the larger, heavily armed Dominion cruisers with the tenacity of a pack of Voles, darting in and attempting to place a crippling shot to an engine section or some other critical part of an enemy’s ship before retreating again as soon as they were under too much fire. Then they regrouped and started another attack.

They relied heavily on making the best out of the cover the planetary defense system was offering. However, it was clear that it wouldn’t take long before they were taken out. There were simply too few of them, their weaponry too weak to make a real difference.

“They are good, but not good enough,” Garak muttered, echoing her thoughts. She looked over at him and all of a sudden, Kira felt crowded by memories of another last stand. She had seen this happening to Bajor. The similarities were chilling. Bajor had been equally surrounded by the combined fleets of the Federation and the Dominion, fighting a losing battle for its independence.

“Look!” Bashir cried out.

For a second Kira was annoyed at his imprecision, and the way he had pulled her out of her reminiscence. What specifically did he want her to look at? Then she saw it. There was movement among the Starfleet ships that had withdrawn earlier, putting a distance between themselves and the two conflicting parties.

Two ships were leaving their formation now. She saw a third Starfleet ship, the one nearest to them, opening fire on the two others. It was only a few shots, though, as the third ship didn’t break formation to follow. Bashir’s next words shed light on the identity of the two runaways. What they didn’t explain were the reasons behind the runaways’ actions.

“It’s the _Hera_ and the _T’Kumbra_ ,” Bashir said. “They’re joining in the fight. How—,” he broke off.

“That reminds me, Julian,” Garak cut in, raising his gaze from his station’s displays. He gave them a look as if he had just remembered something he had forgotten for a while. “Captain La Forge told me to relay her best wishes to you.” He grinned.

“What?” Bashir replied, clearly not comprehending.

Garak lowered his head again, apparently engrossed in his readouts. “Oh, I had something of a run-in with her and Captain Solok at Starfleet HQ. I have to say that woman has a truly mean way with phasers.” He looked up again and chuckled.

Bashir face lit up in delight.

Impatiently Kira broke into their chit-chat. “Will they try to bring others to our side?” she asked.

“She will certainly try,” Bashir replied.

“The question is: how will the Federation react?” Garak muttered under his breath, shooting a dubious look at all of them.

To that no one had an answer.

For a while Kira silently followed the events unfolding all around Vulcan. There was a round of surprised noises when they got visual on what was going on over Vulcan, a much welcome addition to the data feeds they’d received from the conference room so far. Clearly someone had established a static transmission channel either with the _T’Kumbra_ or the _Hera_. Whichever it was, the extra information the channel offered was more than timely.

The _Hera_ and _T’Kumbra_ fell in line with the still remaining Vulcan vessels. Though it was painfully obvious that a reinforcement of only two ships was a far cry from being enough to turn the tides, Kira hoped it would give them a bit more time at least.

She had no idea if the Vulcans’ gambit would work; if they would truly manage to either draw Starfleet or possibly the Federation itself to their side. She had never understood the machinations that motivated the Federation, and truthfully she had never cared much either.

Now, however, she fervently hoped that T’Pel was right; that they stood a real chance in this. With every passing minute her longing to finally get up there and join in that fight grew. It was maddening that she wouldn’t be allowed to do so, even if she knew why it couldn’t be. Their role was another, the role of the hare and not the hound. At T’Pel’s word they would take off, and they would run as fast as they could and as fast as their cloak allowed them without risking to draw any attention.

She saw the _T’Kumbra_ being hit. She watched her getting pummeled by two Dominion battle cruisers. _So, the visuals are coming from the Hera_ , Kira thought. She flinched when an explosion blew one of the _T’Kumbra’s_ warp nacelles out of existence, causing fires to race over the vessel’s flank before most but not all of them flickered out.

 _Help them_ , she thought. _Just help them_ , her mind’s voice repeated over and over, turning the words into an invocation aimed at the bulk of Starfleet ships that passively waited in neat formation. To Kira they seemed like a mob of spectators, watching a tragedy playing out, but lacking the courage to act upon it, to do what was so clearly right.

She heard a huff of frustration from Bashir. Looking up, she saw her own feelings mirrored on his face and even more. He looked almost ready to cry, out of fury or frustration, she couldn’t tell, but she could understand. He had a friend on board the _T’Kumbra_.

Kira shifted her focus back to her headset’s display. At first it almost seemed like a trick of the light. Had she seen some movement among the Starfleet ships? The visual seemed unclear. Hastily she checked the strategic displays. The sight there confirmed her hope. It caused such a thrill of excitement to race through her body she felt herself flush. “Yes!” she shouted, not caring about the sheer joy that made her voice sound far too high and very young and not at all like the experienced leader she was supposed to be.

No less than five Starfleet ships were breaking formation, moving fast to intercept the _T’Kumbra_ , transmitting a distress signal now.

In the end it was an error of judgment on the part of the Dominion that decided the stance those five vessels took in the battle. The Dominion could’ve allowed them to lend assistance. The Starfleet shops didn’t open fire on any of the Dominion’s battle cruisers. They did, however, take up positions that hindered the Dominion keeping up their fire on the _T’Kumbra_.

Very likely they wouldn’t have done more, but even this lending of assistance obviously meant that they were now legitimate targets for the Dominion. Kira saw phaser fire dance and dissipate over the shields of two of the five ships. It was enough. The ships’ captains came to a decision.

Suddenly those two Dominion battle cruisers that had almost succeeded in destroying the _T’Kumbra_ found themselves the targets of heavy phaser fire.

“That’s the _Defiant_ and her sister-ship the _Sao Paulo_ ,” Bashir exclaimed. He sounded so genuinely pleased Kira had to smile at his words. Looking up, she wanted to tell him what a relief it was to see that at least some of those Starfleet captains were finally showing a shred of conscience, regardless of the course of destruction the Federation had forced them to take during the past years. She didn’t get the chance.

T’Pel’s voice came over the _Scarab’s_ intercom system. “Kira, it’s time to launch. I’m feeding you the best flight plan data we’ve been able to come up with. Avoid dropping your cloak at all cost.” She paused, then added, “And Kira, please try to make it out of the Vulcan system in one piece. It would be… regrettable to see the _Scarab_ once again crippled after our engineers spent such an extravagant amount of time repairing her.”

Pavale’s head came up abruptly, her expression one of righteous indignation. Kira didn’t give her a chance to reply though, answering herself, “Acknowledged and will do, _Scarab_ out.”

A faint and low rumble could be heard. Checking the _Scarab’s_ vicinity, she saw that the camouflaged hangar rooftop above them was already pulling back, showing them a first sliver of Vulcan sky. Again she checked, this time to make sure that no stray engineer was still in the cavern before she asked Pavale to initiate the maneuvering thrusters to get them out of their hole.

“Get us above ground, Belle,” she ordered.

She watched the hangar’s walls vanish beneath them as Pavale slowly brought the _Scarab_ up above ground level until she hovered over T’Karath. The activation of their cloak made the desert around them shimmer for a moment. Kira reacted with a relieved sigh. She nodded at Pavale and took over the pilot controls as Pavale brought their main engines online.

Kira pulled the _Scarab_ into a slow ascent. It was great to pilot her again. She was slightly startled how much she had missed this during the last month. Even though her instincts told her to run as fast as she could, she knew that a lot depended on them staying undetected. Unfortunately a reduced engine’s output was the best way of achieving that, and that meant far less speed than she was comfortable with. She had no time and concentration to spare on the on-going battle now, her attention firmly focused on their plotted flight path.

“Garak, give me a running commentary what’s going on out there,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him snatch the Scarab’s other headset from Bashir.

Adjusting it, he set to the task she’d given him. “Let’s see,” he began. “Ah, yes, the _T’Kumbra_ seems to be completely evacuated. At least I hope she is since she obviously has lost all of her atmosphere.” He paused for a moment. ”Those little ships of yours, Julian, the _Defiant_ and the _Sao_ _Paolo_ , they don’t look like much, but they certainly keep those heavy battle cruisers on their toes. The main bulk of the Federation fleet is still waiting in outer orbit, trying to play dead, but oh…wait. Yes, there are more ships leaving formation.”

He fell silent until Kira glanced at him, irritated because of it. She saw him frown, his expression turning grim.

“I was wrong,” he said after another handful of seconds had passed. “They are all breaking formation, but not to join in Vulcan’s defense. A few of them are, but most of them are siding with the Dominion.”

The _Scarab_ was leaving Vulcan’s atmosphere now. Kira slowed them down even further, slowed the _Scarab_ down as much down as was possible. Up here in Vulcan’s exosphere she didn’t have to deal with turbulence or other atmospheric effects. She had their flight path clearly mapped out, but blindly sticking to it would be foolish in a battle situation, especially one that was as shifty as the current one. The biggest problem, however, was that the fight had spread out so much that there were practically no exit windows left to get past the blockade.

“This isn’t good,” Garak spoke again, his voice dropping to a murmur.

“What’s that?” Kira asked.

“Nerys, the Dominion battle cruisers…. They’re deploying fighters and transport carriers. It seems they’ve managed to take out enough of the planetary defense system to get past it. They’re sending the first ground troops down,” Garak answered in a louder voice. There was a terseness in his voice that hadn’t been present before, his words coming out short-clipped and sharp.

She heard Bashir curse under his breath, his words indiscernible, the sound of it raw and filthy.

“There are fighters heading our way,” Garak said, speaking very fast now. “If they follow their present course they are on a direct collision course with us.”

“Belle?” Kira threw her a glance.

“Our cloak’s holding up perfectly. It won’t do so indefinitely under these conditions, however. It was never meant to work during atmospheric entry or exit.”

Kira heard the frustration in Pavale’s voice, felt it herself, the urge to run so strong within her. It wouldn’t take more than one critical hit, though, to send the _Scarab_ tumbling down to the surface. One hit could break their bug’s flight and end all their hopes forever.

“Garak, find me an exit window, now!” Kira ordered.

She was veering the _Scarab_ up and to the side, trying to get her out of the way of those fighters. Any moment she expected defensive fire from the ground. She knew it would come eventually. T’Pel had told her that Vulcan traditionally didn’t have many military installations to provide that kind of ground defense, but their close brush with a potential invasion during the last Borg war had led to a marked build-up.

If at all possible the crossfire over their heads was still intensifying, the situation becoming more and more dangerous and confusing by the second. The formation of the Federation fleet had completely dissolved by now. The larger part of those ships had entered the battle by siding with the Dominion. Only a despairingly small percentage of Starfleet ships had fallen in line with Vulcan.

“Garak, that exit window,” she prompted, urgently.

He scoffed. Then shot back, “You know, I can’t tailor-make one for you just because you want me to.”

He gave her a dirty look she answered with a grimace of her own. Then she saw it, an opening. Well, not so much of an opening but a small region where the cross-fire seemed slightly less dense than all around.

“We’re pulling out,” she announced. She acted without waiting for any replies, edging the _Scarab_ into another steep ascent, ignoring Garak’s startled exclamation to wait, to give him more time.

Miraculously they weren’t shot down immediately, neither by one of the heavy Dominion battle cruisers nor by friendly fire from one of those ships and defense systems that were trying to stem the rising flood of fighters and transport carriers that were on their way down to the planet’s surface. Theirs was a losing battle, of course. The sheer number of ships descending made that painfully clear.

Kira piloted the _Scarab_ far enough away from the raging battle to prevent them from being hit by any stray phaser fire or a photon torpedo on a faulty trajectory. She should run now. She knew that, but her urge to do just that, the urge that had been so overpowering when they’d still been down on the planet’s surface, seemed to have left her.

“Nerys? Shouldn’t we—” The words came from Pavale, hesitant and halting.

It didn’t take more than raising a hand to quell the rest of the question. For a long moment there was absolute silence on the _Scarab’s_ bridge, all four of them watching through headsets and stations’ displays. They saw the planet slowly getting suffocated by an increasing number of hostile forces, their phaser and torpedo fire providing strange lightning effects. The vast number of smaller fighters and ground carriers made the whole scene even more chaotic. From afar it looked like a disease was spreading over the planet’s beautiful orange colored surface.

“Yes, we should,” she finally said, acknowledging Pavale’s half-spoken question, and their need to move on. She looked around her at Garak, Bashir and Pavale. “But a minute won’t make that much of a difference, will it?” She sought for words. “I think we owe it to them.” She gave the others another look, searching their faces, trying to gauge their reactions.

She felt anything but sure about this. Their stay on Vulcan hadn’t been a voluntary one, but if anyone asked her about its people she would be hard-pressed to call them just allies. She’d come to know at least some of them quite well. She thought of T’Pel and wondered what she might be doing right now. Was she already fighting against Jem’Hadar soldiers? Had she already fallen? Kira fervently hoped that T’Pel was still alive. She wasn’t sure she would ever find out. _We’ve made friends down on this planet_ , Kira thought, feeling slightly amazed by the realization.

She looked at Garak and saw him tilting his head to the side, giving her a curt nod. Bashir nodded, too, a wistful smile on his face. Pavale stared at her quizzically at first before she visibly schooled her features. Straightening behind her station, she looked back at Kira and slowly raised an eyebrow, her face remaining stoic. It was such a perfect imitation of T’Pel’s mannerism when she had been amused or irritated about one of Kira’s demands but had politely refrained from telling her so. Kira grinned at Pavale, thankful.

A minute passed in silence. Kira thought hard if there was anything she should say now, something momentous maybe, but no words came to her mind, so she settled for the mundane.

“Okay, let’s head for the wormhole. With a bit of luck we can sneak through while everyone’s attention is focused here. It would be a nice change to accomplish something without further complications.”

She brought the _Scarab_ around, and without another backward glance, she took them on their way.

 

To Be Concluded

in

‘Taking It All Back’


End file.
